The Dichotomy Between Me and Me
by tamagopants
Summary: -Xemnas/Saix-Xemnas/Fem!Saix-Marluxia/Fem!Saix-Genderswitch- The moon can pull realities together. In one reality, he is a Nobody; in the other, a lonely post-fugue housewife - but who's better off, the one who can feel or the one who can't?
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer: **Characters and settings are copyright to Square Enix._

_**Warnings: **Genderswitch fic - meaning that Saïx has a lot of screentime as a woman. Also instances of violence, strong language and disturbing themes throughout, though the more severe instances of these will only be available on my LJ version._

* * *

**THE DICHOTOMY BETWEEN ME AND ME**

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

Squall Leonhart had never pulled over so fast. His body lurched as he slammed on the brakes and yanked the steering wheel sharply to the left. "Hey!" he shouted, even before he had the car door open. He unbuckled his seatbelt and ran into the cool air of Lost Saint's Bridge, hollering the first thing that came to mind. "Don't do it!"

In retrospect, she didn't look the type to jump at all. She appeared utterly convinced that she was feeding ducks at a pier on a hot summer's day, as opposed to sitting on a bridge wall, inches away from a sharp drop to a rushing estuary in the middle of the night.

Squall held out his hands, palms on display. "Ma'am. You don't want to do that. Whatever problems you have, you can talk to someone about them. Come away from the wall. Come back this side."

He wasn't a policeman or a skilled negotiator, but he had her attention at least. She turned to reveal a deep wound between her eyes, a grisly scene of scarlet raindrops rolling down the blank pane of her face.

"I'll get you a doctor. And the police. Who did that to you? Did you have a fight with someone? Look, Ma'am, ending your life isn't the answer to your problems. You're going to hurt the people who love you and in any case, the drop's not high enough to kill you. Come away from the wall. Talk to me, yeah?" He panted from the weight of endangered life that teetered on his shoulders. "Or tell me who you are, and I'll try and get you home – or someplace else if that's where you're running from?"

She only had to turn back to watch the water's edge as it lapped at concrete, and Squall realised he was asking the wrong questions. He caught her searching, leaning forwards and her head moving left and right, and then he approached her, as cautiously as walking across a tightrope.

"Did you drop something? Lose something?" She nodded. "Well," he concluded, not unkindly, "there's little chance of getting it back now."

**~o~**

Detective Inspector Cloud Strife liked to do things by the book. Following the rules had got him this far up the career ladder; it was proof that it was the right thing to do.

"All I'm saying is that you're too close," he tried again. "If the case and the people are a goldfish bowl, you're right up against the glass. Your perspective is skewed. You can't be impartial. You're going to overlook the implications, because you don't want them to be true."

But Sephiroth Butler let his reasoning bounce off him as though it was a crushable paper plane, the same way any criticism failed to leave a dent. He settled into his seat and began to sort through their case file. "There are implications, admittedly, but that's all they are. _Implications_. Why not, for just a few minutes, forget about the fact the goldfish bowl is my brother's family, and do our jobs?"

Cloud relented. He had no choice, really. They might both be Detective Inspectors, but Sephiroth had a flair for his job and had an annoying streak of success. He pretty much had a flair for everything, cleanly stepping over the potholes and bumps Cloud's inner self insisted on stumbling into, as if life was as smooth as his long silver hair. "Fine," he grumbled. "Let's go through the notes again. Several things bug me about this."

"Agreed. Our case starts on 13th April, where Saix Butler was reported missing. The house showed no signs of struggle or intrusion. Contrarily, she took her bag and house keys, even went as far as locking the door and tucking her daughter into bed."

He turned the page, bypassing the police's record of Saix Butler. Cloud supposed that Sephiroth didn't need to read up on his sister-in-law's stats. "However, less than an hour ago, a computer analyst by the name of Squall Leonhart turned her into the station. So, after one month of failing to locate her, she suddenly shows up on a bridge. Not only that, she's returned in a fugue state."

"And there lies your problem," Cloud returned. He wasn't an expert in the study of the mind, but he knew the basics of a fugue state, enough to know that Sephiroth was way out of his league to be included in this case. Sephiroth wasn't going to be impartial. He _couldn't_ be. "You know the interesting thing about a fugue state?" he said to his partner. "The interesting thing about a fugue state is that it's a defence mechanism. Typically, it's a response to severe trauma, where the brain shuts memories away, in order to prevent someone from reliving a certain event that will surely drive them crazy. You say they're just implications, but if she is responding to trauma, the first point of call is the family."

He leaned back in his seat, opting to not press any further, just to be polite, just to leave an implication.

**~o~**

Vexen Newcombe had only ever come across one other fugue case, and that was in a textbook fifteen years ago. If the world of psychiatry was a five star, four course meal, a fugue patient would be the mouth watering dessert at the end that every psychiatrist knew was there, but simply couldn't get to.

As with any other case of amnesia, conversation had to go at the patient's pace. Most of the time, Vexen had to humour her, listen to her prattle on, feign a laugh when she found random things funny; which in the short term was fine, but amnesiacs were delicate. Their thoughts were part of a thin, glass web; if too much pressure was applied, it'd break and become irretrievable. If Vexen asked the wrong question at the wrong time – and he knew that there were dozens of these opportunities – the amnesiac would panic and possibly break down.

The thing about Saix, about fugue patients in general, was that she couldn't remember _anything_. She had no idea who she was, where she came from, no knowledge of her past; she had no idea she had even been missing.

He scratched his head, trying to get thinking as he surveyed her in her hospital bed. "She'll have to be kept in a secure unit," he said, as Zexion patched up her face wound. "That cut might have been self inflicted."

"Or she was attacked," answered Zexion. He wheeled round on his stool, facing Vexen with an expression mere _assistants_ shouldn't wear. "She might have been traumatised enough in a premeditated attack, and the fugue state is her response. Remember what she keeps saying, they sound like words someone fed to her—"

He made to say her famous words, when Saix sat up in bed and gave herself the honours. "I'm Saix, I'm number seven," she murmured. "I'm Saix, I'm number seven. I'm Saix, I'm number seven."

**~o~**

"How do you think he took it?" Xigbar said to Sephiroth, as soon as Xemnas politely excused himself and went to the bathroom to hurl.

"Quite well." Sephiroth leaned back in his chair and the new leather creaked from his weight. "He might need to hear the facts a few more times – just to fully comprehend – but I think that's him being sick with relief."

"Huh. Well aren't you the optimist."

Sephiroth rounded on him, but Xigbar was used to (and consequently immune to) his brother's piercing policeman look.

"What?" Xigbar said in defence. "Look, you know it as well as I do. We told Xemnas to prepare for the worst because when people go missing, there's rarely a happy ending. We were all expecting to recover a body, and in all honesty, I think that would have been kinder than bringing Saix to Xemnas and say, _hey look, here's your wife, but she doesn't know who you are_."

"She's alive," Sephiroth said, his voice layered with finality that most people respected. "That's more than we ever hoped for."

"Alive, yeah, but with no knowledge of who she is? That's like dangling a cake on a string and getting him to chase it, torturing him into coming close to what he can't have. Then again, that's not too different to how Saix treated him anyway."

"Watch your words," Sephiroth cautioned automatically.

Perhaps it was just his bitterness getting the better of him. After all, Xigbar was a sour old man stuck on disability benefits and doing crummy odd jobs for people who felt sorry for him, with little to show for his life. Xemnas was – until now – significantly better off than him.

"She'll recover. There aren't many cases of fugue, but they do generally point to memory recovery, at some point or another." Sephiroth glanced up at the stark white ceiling of the hospital waiting room, sighing.

Xigbar was about to argue that this meant nothing because there was no guarantee, but the gents' door opened just then and Xemnas emerged.

"Here." Sephiroth stood up and unscrewed the cap of a water bottle. "Take a seat. How are you feeling?"

Xemnas sat between his brothers, and as much as Xigbar resented that bitch Saix for putting them through his, he kept his mouth shut. "Am I allowed to see her?" Xemnas said after a few seconds, ignoring the question completely.

"I need you to acknowledge the situation you are in, before I let you." Sephiroth clasped and unclasped his hands, but that was about as far as his nerves showed. "You need to understand that the police will have questions for you and your family. You need to understand that Saix isn't who she used to be any more."

"I understand," Xemnas said, too quick for their liking.

"Do you?" Sephiroth said lightly. "Do you fully understand the implications of a fugue state? You're going to walk into Dr Newcombe's office there, and you're going to want to hug and kiss her. But you can't. You can't even hold a proper conversation with her, because she doesn't know who you are. The last eight years she's spent with you have been wiped from her memory, and every year before that, too. She has no comprehension that she's married, that she has children, that she lives in a nice four bedroom house in the middle of Radiant Garden. Are you sure you understand?"

"I'm sure." He sighed, scrabbling to some hair to tug at. "Just…just let me see my wife."

"She's not your wife," Xigbar corrected, his thoughts getting the better of him. "She's just a shell."

**~x~**

Saïx cannot pinpoint an exact time and location for meeting her for the first time. He finds it difficult to explain, even to himself. If he has to provide an explanation, though, he'd call it something akin to snapshots. Sometimes, he just wakes up, or comes back from a mission, or does something as simple as twirl a pen, and he remembers fragments of her life.

It doesn't feel like he's travelling. He is quite certain that his feet are firmly planted in this barren world, keen to seek existence on this particular plane. In stark contrast, his mind runs haywire, breaking through the complexities of stern reality and wishful thinking, until they become one and the same.

He's always had himself down as mad – and dignified enough to admit it – but he does think that dreaming up of another universe is pushing it somewhat.

Even so, now he doesn't feel so lonely in this heartless body.


	2. Wake Up

_**Disclaimer: **Characters and settings are copyright to Square Enix._

_**Warnings: **AU and Genderswitch fic - meaning that Saïx has a lot of screentime as a woman. Also instances of violence, strong language and disturbing themes throughout, though the more severe instances of these will only be available on my LJ version._

* * *

**THE DICHOTOMY BETWEEN ME AND ME**

**CHAPTER 1: WAKE UP**

* * *

I don't even receive the dignity of a trigger. There's no romantic act that breaks the spell, like a kiss or a familiar touch of the hand or the right words said by the right voice.

It's more like this. One minute, I am sitting on the side of the bathtub and brushing my teeth. The next minute, my toothbrush falls onto the tiles with a clatter as the veil lifts. I realise that this isn't my bathroom, that these aren't my clothes, that I'm miles from home.

"Are you done?" someone calls. "I'm bursting here. Hurry up. Open the fucking door."

Carefully, because the voice sounds murderous more than impatient, I creep to push my back against the wall and pull on the handle. The acrid smell of medicine creeps through the tiny gap, and then the door flies open. Someone pushes me. I crash into something. I stumble out, bump into a wall corner, catch a tooth on my lip. There's blood mixed with the toothpaste in my mouth.

"I told you to hurry up, didn't I? You fucking bitch, move…!"

I want to go home.

"I'm Saïx," I plead, as a woman – a nurse? – takes my arm and starts to walk me back.

"I know," she answers, and I flinch at the bite to her voice. "You're also number seven. I know, I know. Get undressed."

I stare at her. And the more I stare, the more I feel the walls caving in on me and the floor leaving my feet. My room – I assume that's where she has taken me – shows signs of having once been tidy. But now, various cards are scattered across the floor and a bunch of carnations have been strewn across my bed as if it's a coffin.

"Yeah, the usual suspects," says the nurse. "They trashed your room. Get over it. Come on, get changed into your pyjamas. _Now_, Saïx. I don't have all day."

Every one of her words, especially the way she spits out my name, scald me like flecks of hot water. Across the hall in the room opposite mine, an old woman presses her face against the window and makes obscene gestures at me. I can hear screaming and shouting, and nurses retaliating by hollering for silence.

My whole body contorts against the pressure, and a ripple of fear runs through me, to escape in a single sob. I dart past the nurse, colliding with the doorframe to avoid her claw-like hands. I stumble into the corridor and run as fast as I can.

"Zexion!" The nurse's voice pierces through the acrid air. "Your favourite patient is being very difficult!"

I spot a telephone box ahead. There's two, but a middle-aged man is using the left one. I skid towards the right and lift up the handset. It shakes in my grip, becomes a blur of green as I burst into tears.

"Pretty lady," says the man next to me. He beckons for me to hold out my hand, and then drops in something. "You can call home now." He turns back. "Hello? Ma, it's me!"

I look down at my hand to discover there's nothing there; when I glance back up, I realise he hasn't dialled a number at all. I freeze up as I study the buttons, as the mechanical voice from the phone calls into my ear.

The handset moves from my grip and slowly, someone puts it back and with a gentle tug, he pulls me to face him. He doesn't look much older than eighteen, but he wears a doctor's coat and his visible eye studies me like he's doing a cross examination. His name tag reads _Zexion_.

"…Who were you trying to call, Saïx?" he asks. He's so gentle, yet every sound and sight burns me.

I shake my head. "Home. I'm so, _so_ scared and I want to go home."

I don't know if I am coherent, or if the words have even left my mouth. It becomes an arduous task just to stay standing, and I sink to my knees, if only to try and make myself smaller, to make the bombardment of distress a little less hard hitting.

There's a sigh, and Zexion slumps against the wall by the telephone box. A slim hand goes to his hair and he pushes back his long fringe, cracking a faint smile. "Mrs Butler – welcome back."

~o~

I get whisked to an oak office at Zexion's insistence.

"We have to run standard tests, although no doctor will deny that you've been the most cooperative and friendly patient."

The office, thankfully, has soundproof walls and no nurses. My shoulders relax and when Zexion takes me to the sofa and pushes forward a cup of tea, I even manage a, "Thank you, doctor," and a smile.

"I'm not a doctor," he replies, "just an assistant. Doctor Newcombe is recognised as your supervisor."

I glance over at the solid desk where Vexen Newcombe sits and attacks a file for relevant papers. "I'll be with you both in a minute," he mutters.

Zexion shrugs and sinks into the armchair opposite me. We fall into a silence, and I contemplate what 'standard tests' entail. I've been admitted to a ward for a reason; they obviously have to run a scan on my mind, make sure I'm not mad.

Vexen gets up from his chair and walks round. He sits on the edge of his desk, eight feet away from me.

"Saïx," Vexen begins. "Firstly, allow me to apologise for the fright that must have been caused when you suddenly found yourself in a psychiatric ward. There is no need to be too alarmed. You were admitted to the ward when you entered a fugue state. For two months – one where you went missing and one where you were detained here – you lost all sense of identity. Given your one act of self harm, we deemed it sensible to keep you here and work with you to re-establish your sense of self."

I repeat, "Self harm?" but no one grants me the opportunity to see what harm.

"We accept it was an act of frustration as opposed to acting on the desire for suicide," Vexen continues. "Overall, you have been a model patient. Very harmless, kind and cooperative, as amnesia cases generally are. Now, the same way you couldn't remember your true self while in a fugue state, you can't remember your fugue state now that you're out of it. In fact, it's likely you are still continuing to suffer from amnesia. But don't worry," he assures, as I squirm in my seat, because I really _can't_ remember anything about myself at all. "Our job is to encourage your memory to come back, and hopefully solve the issue that caused your fugue to begin with."

"Hence the standard tests," quips Zexion, "just to see the level of amnesia we're dealing with."

"So, Saix. Perhaps you can tell me what these objects are." Vexen starts to pick up items from his desk.

"Um…a pen. Notebook. Phone." Vexen points to his lapel, and I try, "…Doctor's coat?"

"Excellent," says Vexen. "Why don't you tell me what you like to eat?"

"I don't know."

"Any favourite restaurants?"

"Botanical Palace," I reply. I remember the twisting ivy and sweet smell of honeysuckle.

"Why is that?"

"I don't know."

"Tell me about your friends," Vexen continues.

"I don't know who they are."

"Your family?"

"I don't know who they are."

This rally of questions and (lack of) answers continues for what seems like hours. Every time I admit I don't know something, I worry that it nudges them inch by inch to the conclusion that I have to stay locked up. On top of it, the nagging sensation of feeling so empty inside just worsens.

"Well done, Saix," says Vexen, when he decides to let me go. "This is what we'll do. It appears you are rational and coherent enough for us to loosen your leash, so to speak. We've asked your husband to visit you tomorrow morning."

"I have a husband?"

"Yes," answers Vexen. "If you feel comfortable enough, we'll let him take you home tomorrow evening. Otherwise you can remain here in our care."

"Don't worry, though, Saïx. If you do remain with us, we'll have you moved to a more pleasant ward where the focus is recovery over detainment." Zexion steeples his fingers, which doesn't really look right on a teenager. "We understand that it's distressing to have a blank past, and even more so to be locked up because of it. But we want you to consider your options carefully, and not rule out the ward. Remember that Vexen's and my primary duty is to restore you to health."

~o~

I stay awake for a good portion of the night, trying to analyse my own answers. Really, how can I _not_ know who I am? How can I sit in the corner of my bed and have an empty head?

I trace the mark on my face – this cross shaped scar I apparently carved into myself – and let the nervous butterflies erupt in my stomach as stare up at the blank ceiling and wonder if it's a mirror.

The next morning, my nerves only intensify as I get cleaned up and handed a smock-like dress that's a faded grey at the hem, and a single hair band with which to look presentable. I wonder if my husband will mind me looking so drab but then again, the visitors' hall in the psychiatric ward isn't the number one spot for a first date anyway, so the odds are against me right from the start.

"Sit here," says Zexion. "Your husband is on his way. We have wardens supervising all visitor meetings from that booth there. Just give a wave if you feel uncomfortable or want to leave, okay?"

"Okay." I sit down at a wooden table painted a stark cream, that very nearly melts into the equally pale walls and floor tiles of the hall. Every sound is followed by a resounding echo that bounces off the vast expanse of the ceiling; the sunlight that streams in from the high windows doesn't quite touch the top of our heads. It's crowded, busy; and yet, inexplicably lonely. Tens of other patients sit at tables and wait for their visitor to arrive.

For ten minutes, I fidget with the hem of my dress and try to think up of a good way to introduce myself to my husband. For five minutes after that, I debate with myself as to whether an introduction is even necessary. All the while, I survey the double doors where visitors come into the white world, and wonder if I will just _know_ who he is when he comes in. Will my heart rate pick up? Will I suddenly feel so, so safe?

Once, there's a nice looking man in skinny jeans that gets my hopes up, but he sits at a different table. At eight thirty-three, a lanky man with greasy grey hair strolls in, and I nearly scream out loud that he better not be my husband. At quarter to nine, a middle-aged man with inch-thick glasses wanders in, and I keep my head down as if that will change the facts that have already been written. There's angry men, bald men, short men, bored men; and the whole time, I just hang in this limbo by a single thread and thought of hope – _I hope he likes me._

At eight fifty-seven, a tall, tanned man comes into the hall. He has a haphazard bouquet of flowers in his hand. I find myself sitting up straight (suddenly and unconsciously), and I flush at the sight of my worn smock dress, which looks ten times worse when put against his creaseless pinstripe suit. It's difficult to decide if it's the flowers and the immediate beeline for me, that reveals his identity, or if it's something more. In any case, I stand up to greet him, outstretching a hand. My cheeks flare up to be a magnificent shade of red, but I don't know how else to tackle it.

"Hello. I'm Saix," I say breathlessly. We shake hands.

"Xemnas," he introduces. We sit down opposite each other, like it's a prison visit or a boring bank meeting about mortgages.

"I hoped you'd be my husband. A-after I saw you, I mean. There were a lot of old men, and some ugly too—" I ramble nervously, uncertain if I have a point or add value to the conversation, but he gives a light, worn smile anyway.

"Well, I'm thirty-six, so I am getting on a bit." His voice is soft and smooth, not unlike his cocoa skin, I find myself thinking. In fact, somewhere at the back of my nerve wracked mind, I'm absently pleased that I have done so well and snagged someone so handsome.

"How old am I?"

"You're thirty-one in July."

"And we're married," I say, trying to get used to the fact.

"This year's our sixth year."

"Then I went missing for one month, and then in a fugue state for another?"

"Or you were in a fugue state for the whole period," says Xemnas. "In any case, you've been out of action for two months. It's okay, though," he adds, "I'm just glad you're back. I'll take care of you."

"But I don't even know who you are." I stare at him, at that beautiful shade of skin, golden eyes and sleek silver hair, and I can't believe I'm married to him. He recoils at my statement, but he's surprisingly gracious about it.

"You can learn. We'll take it slow and you can relearn everything about yourself."

"Thirty years' worth?" I point out. "I've…Surely I've given you enough grief already."

"The worst thing you could do now is not even attempt it," he answers. The smoothness of his voice doesn't quite match his nervous expression. I stare at him blankly, and realise with a dull thud of my heart hitting the pit of my stomach, that that action – of looking like a woman not in love – is grief enough.

"…Are those for me?" I ask, tentative, encouraging. I point to the flowers by his elbow.

"Yeah. Yeah they are." He hands them over. "Those are from the kids. They picked them from the garden, which explains the lack of presentation."

"Oh." I take the bouquet, which consists of several wilting pansies and a dandelion. They're held together by a muddy ribbon, and it's all so terribly sweet that I feel a burst of warm pride, even if I know next to nothing about being a mother. Xemnas gives me a few minutes for the fact to sink in. "How many do I have?"

"Three."

I correct myself in a low murmur, "Do _we _have," and then go on to ask what's going to happen to me.

"I don't know," Xemnas admits. "You might get your memory back; you might not. Either way, you'll be welcomed with open arms. But if you want to stay in the ward, that too—you know, it's all right to choose that."

"No," I say quickly.

"Are the doctors all right? Are they good to you?"

"They're fine. I just…I don't know, it feels a little lonely, I suppose. I can't talk to anyone, and it's not like I have memories to revisit."

I glance at the gold wedding band round his finger, trying to be subtle about it. It's enough to convince me. Stay in a psychiatric ward and be analysed every second of the day? Or go home under the wing of someone who, six years ago, promised to take care of me, no matter what?

~o~

Vexen's standard tests on me reaffirm his suspicions that I have gone from dissociative fugue to systematised amnesia. In other words, I have gone from having no memory of my entire life, to only missing a specific category of information. Someone with systematised amnesia can usually get by without the need to recall the missing information. In many cases, it's a defence mechanism formulated by the brain to block out a particular person who may have caused severe trauma.

With me, though, my specific category puts me into an admirable position of loneliness. I seem to have a problem with people, and remembering who they are to me. My house, I know inside out. Give me a book, and I'll read to you. Ask me to draw a map from home to the nearest park, and I'll have it done in seconds.

But take me to school and ask me to point to my children, and I won't be able to. I don't recognise Xemnas, my own husband; I don't recognise Zexion, who apparently clocked more hours than anyone else in looking after me. I'm meeting everyone again for the first time.

Vexen and Xemnas come to a compromise. Where Vexen said that the psychiatric ward offered the best services for my recovery, Xemnas countered this by pointing out that integrating me with people was a sensible route to take.

"Besides, the kids have gone two months without their mother," Xemnas had argued, and the way his voice broke at the end hasn't left my mind, even now.

With the promise that I will make regular appointments with him and to ring as soon as I feel uncomfortable with settling in, then Vexen lets me go.

"Wait, Saïx." Zexion holds out a clear bag with my name on it. A gold band is inside. "We had to confiscate your possessions. We have to watch out for small items; people often have creative ways to—" He trails off and shrugs. "I digress."

"In any case, we're only a phone call away," says Vexen, and while he is meant to sound comforting, it comes across as a threat to Xemnas.

We leave the hospital together. The weight and pressure lifts off me, only to be replaced by a sense of giddiness and anxiety. So far, Xemnas has been very stiff and not particularly forthcoming, but when we head down the steps to the car park, his hand slides into mine and he makes a bland remark about the waning moon looking nice tonight. We behave like we're on a first date gone wrong, where neither party feels obliged to try and make amends, preferring to admit defeat.

I glance up at him, and I wonder how much emotion he is keeping back. I know he has missed me. In some way, I suppose he still is. I test the waters – my own courage, to care for this stranger I once adored enough to marry – and pull my hand away from him, only to come back to wrap my arms around his shoulders. He squeezes me tight, buries his face into my neck, and I feel his fingers shaking in my hair. "It's all right, love," he chokes, but I'm not sure who he's trying to reassure, "it's all fine now."

There's nothing familiar. It's new, like the crisp, unopened cover of a book. His smell – of birch leaf and cardamom – sends a ripple of comfort through me, though. I wonder vaguely how many times I have taken in this scent before; how many times the kind voice has whispered sweet nothings; how many hours these strong arms have held me close and safe; how many lazy afternoons I might have spent, tracing shapes on his bronze chest. The lapels of his grey suit feel cool and soothing against my forehead, and I clutch the front of his shirt. I don't want to lose this tall, dark and handsome stranger, who makes me lean and arch into his touch, as though subconsciously, I know very well who he is.

"We're going to be okay," he says resolutely, and I feel the rumble of his voice as I press my head to his heart. "You're going to be okay. It's just a matter of time. You'll remember us all eventually."

"I'll try my hardest."

The car journey home shakes off the initial flakes of frosty awkwardness. In the warmth and the soothing drive through the night, we become a little more accustomed around one another. We have a family car, and my heart flutters from an untraceable source of energy whenever I glance behind me (discreetly using the mirror) at the baby's car seat and the numerous soft toys scattered across the carpeted floor.

Xemnas smiles a fraction and says, "They're not very good at cleaning up. A bit like me."

I alternate between fiddling with the seatbelt and the hem of my dress. "Do they like me?"

"They love you."

We fall into another one of our silences, and I use moments when Xemnas is caught in traffic and awkward manoeuvres to study his face in more detail. He really is very handsome.

When he pulls into the driveway of a corner house I recognise, he flicks off the engine, undoes his seatbelt. He takes a few seconds to decide on his opening sentence, and goes to rest on the wheel, raking a hand through silvery hair. "The last two months have been very hard on us," he says. "The kids are desperate to see their mama again. I'm sorry that I ask so much of you, so early on, when you have no duty or obligation to me. I know you are currently so fragile—"

"—but the children are even more so," I finish for him. I glance up from the car to the house. One of the downstairs lights is on. I wonder if the children – if they are awake and old enough to talk – are discussing me and my whereabouts, or if they are in a stony, nervous silence. "I know what you're asking of me. And I'll do it."

Xemnas' shoulders relax, and he leans across his car seat to do something to me. But he stops midway. "Thank you," he murmurs. We get out of the car. I know the route to the front door, how the second step is wobbly, how we have to duck on the porch to avoid being attacked by the clematis. The security light flicks on as Xemnas unlocks the door and leads me inside. Again, my heart flutters with the inexplicable, unfounded joy when I spot children's shoes littered across the hall and a wooden highchair in the dining room.

"They're sound asleep. Quiet as mice," says a voice, and I turn to the living room to see a middle aged man with an eye patch. Long black hair is slicked back into a ponytail at the base of his neck, and when his gold gaze rests on me, he pulls a face of disappointment.

"This is Xigbar," Xemnas introduces quietly, "my older brother."

"Nice to meet you," I reply. Xigbar doesn't return the formalities. Instead, he raises his eyebrow and utters to Xemnas, "You have to be kidding me. I worked _four_ whole years to get your wife to finally tolerate me, and now I have to start all over again? Where's her memory? Did the doctors say how long this is going to last?"

Xemnas makes a gesture to the door. "Thanks for babysitting. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Fine. Talk to you then. I'd say something to you, Saïx, but I'm not entirely sure you'll remember it come tomorrow." Xigbar shrugs, squeezes my shoulder and wriggles his feet into his shoes. I'm torn between smiling at the joke or taking it seriously. Will it take me another four years to like him again? It's incredible that Xemnas can be so patient with me.

"He's a bit of an arse," Xemnas remarks, "but he babysits for free so that might be why."

"…What if I don't like my children?" I make the mistake of asking him. I can't be expected to get along with everyone, even if I had known and loved them before…can I? I've been thrown into someone else's life and expected to get on with it.

Xemnas and I freeze up on the stairs, mirroring looks of horror at the question. "…I don't know," he answers. "I never considered…"

Xemnas pushes open the door and the children's bedroom is just as I've imagined (remembered?) it to be. It boasts colours, innocent messiness, enough hanging displays to make Xemnas stoop to reach the beds.

"Demyx," Xemnas murmurs, rousing the eldest child. "Someone's here to see you." He leans across to the other bed, pulling the quilts down a few inches to reveal a mop of blonde hair. "Roxas, wake up."

I have three children. Demyx is six; Roxas is five; and Xion, who sleeps next door, is only one and a half. Xemnas advises that we don't wake Xion, as she is likely to not go back to sleep; so I just watch her in her cot, memorising her cute, chubby face and stroking her jet black hair. Both Demyx and Roxas cry for about three seconds, before their mood swings and they are crazily pleased. Demyx expresses curiosity with the scar on my face, asking if it hurts and did the doctors do it in order to reach my brain. Roxas berates me for not coming along to the school festival. He dangles from my shoulders and says, "Papa said you were in hospital…! Are you better now?"

"Yes, much better," I lie, and I hold onto Demyx tight with one arm and Roxas with the other. I try to memorise their smell, the shape of their tiny bodies, the look in their bright eyes.

"Mama, are you back forever now?" Demyx asks. "Because Uncle Xigbar said you left us."

"No, I'm back forever," I respond. Neither of them look convinced.

"Don't worry." Xemnas' hand grazes the top of Roxas' head in a smooth, well-practised motion. "Mama will still be here in the morning."

It takes some talented coercing on Xemnas' part to get them to go back to bed. They keep grinning, calling me back and pleading for me to stay with them. And I nearly do, because although I have only known them for five minutes, I'm convinced that they make me whole. I'm certain that even with a full memory, I wouldn't be as complete as I feel when I am with these children.

Something is missing in me, and it's not my memory.

When Xemnas takes me to our bedroom, I pretend to be oblivious of the implications. It doesn't help that a double bed dominates the room, with expensive silky sheets that glisten in the dim light. It looks so inviting that I feel compelled to collapse onto the coolness and sink into the pillows.

"Your pyjamas." Xemnas hands me a small blue bundle. "There's an en suite bathroom. But I shouldn't assume you want to sleep straightaway. Are you hungry? I can cook you something."

"No," I say quickly, and I cringe at how tense we both sound. "Um…I'm just tired."

"…All right." He straightens his tie, only to shift his gaze from mine. "I'll sleep downstairs. You can take the bed."

"Oh." My other words get caught behind that flat, heartless word.

"Goodnight." He pauses at the door, manages a smile. "I'm really glad you're back."

"…Goodnight."

I start to get ready for bed. Slowly, I peel off my dress and pull my pyjama top over my head. As I get changed, I rummage through the drawers in the room, getting a feel for who I am. What kind of clothes do I like to wear? Am I frumpy or fashionable? What are my hobbies? Am I tidy or disorganised? Do I wear makeup or don't I bother? What books do I read before bed? Are Xemnas and I close, or do the children dictate our lives?

I open the top right drawer of my dresser to discover an array of hair accessories. The next drawer down is dedicated to Xemnas' cufflinks. I move on to investigate my clothes. I seem to like tunic tops and jeans. At the base of my wardrobe are boxes upon boxes of designer shoes and tops, yet to be opened. I'm either spoilt rotten, or am about to spoil someone.

My underwear drawer makes me blush and slam it back shut again, despite the room being empty and despite it being _my_ underwear. Some of it is frills; a lot is lace; most have matching bras. One set even has suspenders. (That one I shove away very quickly.)

I wander to Xemnas' side of the room. He has a pile of jigsaw puzzles on his chair, and stacked on top is his fresh laundry. When I search through his dresser, I expect to come across some incriminating evidence so that I can call Vexen and escape the pressure of this role; but the only interesting things I find are a broken watch, a small bottle of lubricant (no condoms in sight) and a keepsake box full of cards. Xemnas appears so normal that I wind up disappointed rather than pleased.

My entire family is wonderful.

So why would I have chosen to one day get up and run away?

The guilt eats at me like a swarm of merciless flies. I curl up on the bed, turn down the intensity of the light and hug a pillow. It's been a long night and an even longer two months for some other people, but the ruthlessness of my mind carries on. I think about crying, or phoning Zexion and Vexen, or throwing something at the wall – anything to vent my frustration and the need and desire to recollect the story behind my beautiful family.

Instead, I pull a comforter out from under the bed, fold it over my arm and tiptoe out the room. I sneak downstairs, feeling like a thief in my own home.

Xemnas isn't really sleeping. He's sitting in the armchair in a daze, illuminated by the moonlight. I approach, nervously at first, but then quicker when he tries to get up.

I feel a little too big for his lap, but I persist and he relents. I curl up against him and his arms lock around me to form a secure hold. I don't know if it's the first or umpteenth time I have done this.

We feel a little better, though. It's evident in the way we quickly succumb to sleep.

~x~

Saïx can accurately recall the smell of the husband and the feel of the cool night air on her sheets. There's a shocking level of detail to which he can describe the corner house in Radiant Garden and all of its contents. He knows that there are five jigsaw puzzles stacked on the husband's side of the room; that the armchair in the living room is made from leather and the cushion has fallen to the floor.

Dreams aren't meant to be that vivid; and madness isn't supposed to make so much sense. By this reasoning, Saïx realises that he has a problem that needs to be addressed. He's still new to the inner workings of the Organisation so he isn't in a position to be demanding the help of others, but given his track record in mission completion, he is one of the Superior's favourites. Maybe he can ask Number One for a little advice.

He's a Nobody, just like everyone else in the Organisation, but is this alarmingly intense connection to a universe common for _all_ Nobodies, or just those with the moon as his ruling element?

When they gather in the Round Room, Saïx promises himself to approach the Superior afterwards to voice his concerns. This determination is only encouraged as the meeting's purpose is revealed in the form of a new member, the Organisation's Number Nine. He's a skittish youth who has a slight problem in keeping quiet, and he boasts a mop of untidy blonde-brown hair, and his name is—

"—Demyx," Saïx guesses in a whisper aloud, before Lord Xemnas actually announces it. Saïx knows his name and his face because they've met before, and it's all the weight he needs to tip the scale from uncertain to certain.

"Sir." Saïx catches up to Xemnas and dodges Demyx as the new member tries to get acquainted with him. (Saïx isn't going to have any of it. As far as he's concerned, understanding the link to an alternate universe is far more pressing than making friendly with a neophyte who fails to see his incapability.)

"Number Seven. The meeting is adjourned," Xemnas says to me. He's cold and aloof, and Saïx doesn't expect this version of him to be hugging him any time soon. "If you had any questions, you would have voiced them at the meeting."

"It's not a question, more a concern."

"All the more reason to utilise the advantage of group discussion."

"It's personal."

Xemnas slows to a languid pace. There's a bubble of power around him that Saïx finds difficult to penetrate. He can only follow his Superior, his toes just grazing the tip of Xemnas' shadow before it pulls away.

"It's personal," Xemnas repeats. There's no bite to his voice, but Saïx feels the dull thud of a mental dead end. Xemnas stops and turns, and a well-rehearsed deadpan expression works its way onto his face. "Number Seven. When you approach me with a personal problem, you are making two assumptions."

"I know," Saïx says in response. "One, that I am assuming I have the capacity to feel concern and two, that I assume you are willing to listen and assist."

Xemnas' eyelids flutter and he glances up at the ceiling, which could pass as complacent more than bothered, but Saïx struggles to discern his boss, even in such proximity. "If you are aware of this, then why do you approach?"

"Because I believe it may be your field of interest. It will contribute to your research into the heart and its workings. You wish to regain what you have lost but on top of it, you want to understand and learn and discover." Saïx darts forward, overtaking Xemnas to stand in front of him. "It's another universe, Sir. I'm connecting to one, and I want to know if this is standard or not."

It's all right for someone to have a moment of madness. But a madman having a second of normalcy, isn't so convincing – or forgivable.

Saïx is mad; he always has been. Tiny things distract and irk him, and greater things push him into a frenzied spell that the others have labelled as _berserker_. He's primitive, animalistic, driven insane by his own element rather than soothed by it; everything he says, unless is he is pragmatically repeating what the Superior has fed into his mouth, is in the voice of a lunatic.

Xemnas looks him up and down, perhaps trying to locate where the madness is most abundant. "…You have a duty in the Organisation," he says finally, and Saïx witnesses him slip from his grasp. "Churning out ludicrous proclamations – you are starting to outdo yourself – is far from this duty."

"Sir, I knew Demyx's name before you even thought of it. I _know_ Demyx. In the alternate world, he's—"

But Xemnas just portals away, and Saïx experiences the prickling sensation of frustration. He wonders if holding high regard for his Superior is his biggest sign of madness.

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_A/N: Thanks to the lovely people who have reviewed/fav'd this fic. I'm hoping it gets a bit better from here on as it does have a bit of a slow start. Any comments/feedback will be very encouraging. Thanks for reading!_


	3. Emptiness

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_**Disclaimer: **Characters and settings are copyright to Square Enix_

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**THE DICHOTOMY BETWEEN ME AND ME**

**CHAPTER 2: EMPTINESS**

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In the early hours of morning, I lock myself in the bathroom, peel off my pyjamas and just study. It's unbearable at first, to see a naked woman and not register it immediately as a reflection.

I'm relatively short and slim. If I didn't have an X shaped cut on my face, my distinguishing feature would probably be my mid-length, powder blue hair. My eyes are light orange and confused. My waist is only slightly curvy, my backside virtually missable.

After a shower, I write _hello_ in the foggy mirror with both hands to see which is dominant. I wander back to the bedroom to change and realise that I'm very slightly pigeon toed when I walk. I also wear size ten clothes and am a D cup. Ninety percent of my tops are flowing tunic tops. I pick one, squeeze into a pair of jeans and tie my hair into a scruffy ponytail. Lastly, I tear open a plastic sleeve and from it, retrieve and slip on my wedding ring.

What I find particularly interesting about myself, though, is my stomach, where there are three half-inch scars near my bellybutton – one below, one to the left and one to the right. I trace them, and then push my fingers to the rest of my flesh, and think to myself that for someone with three children, this is an awfully good belly.

**~o~**

A greater challenge than getting reacquainted with my family is learning routine.

Every weekday, Demyx and Roxas have school, and Xemnas has work. I make lunch for all three of them and they leave at eight. Xemnas takes the car, drops off our sons and then drives to work. In the afternoon, Demyx and Roxas walk home from school, accompanied by their gym teacher. On Wednesdays, Xemnas goes to the gym; on Thursdays, Demyx has an extended music class after school; on Fridays, Roxas tends to go round Hayner's house.

Apparently, amongst all this, I'm a complacent housewife who stays at home all day and looks after Xion.

"Er…it's always been that way." Xemnas shifts uncomfortably, half-expecting me to complain at the deal we made on marriage. "Are you all right with that?"

I nod, a little surprised at how snugly Xion fits against my hip. She swings her legs, gurgles and rests her head on me. "I must have been all right with it. What are your work hours?"

"I start at nine and finish at six. Sometimes I get asked to do Saturdays too. This is my work address." Xemnas pins a scrap of paper to the fridge using a ladybird magnet. Most of that fridge is covered in photos of family outings I don't remember, and I find I can't stare at them too long. "That's the store number there as well, and my mobile number underneath. Call me if there's anything."

I examine the note. "You work in a shopping mall?"

"Just a salesman in a department store. Which itself is in a shopping mall," Xemnas replies. "It pays the bills."

"Oh…I wasn't complaining," I say, holding up my free hand. "I just want to get to grips with…stuff. Our life, I suppose."

"Take your time with that," says Xemnas, and he sticks his hands in his pockets before they reach for mine. "Have a quiet day today and…chill out or something."

"Okay, I'll do that."

There's the briefest pause that's abundant with tension and averted gazes, and then Xemnas says, "Are you ready to meet our neighbours?"

I nod. He takes me to our living room where Roxas and Demyx are getting ready for school. They are squabbling with one another and as soon as they see me, they vie for my attention. I shift Xion so that I can rock her. She's so cute that a part of me melts every time I look into her wide eyes. It's quite a feat, given that I've only known her the lesser of one to two hours; but again, there is the sense of wholeness when I am with the children, that even outshines the tension between Xemnas and myself. At times when they dominate the house with their shouting or laughter, I feel utterly convinced that we can do this.

"Demyx, that's Roxas' tie, sorry." Xemnas turns him to the stairs. "Yours is in your room somewhere I'm sure." He gestures to the sofa, where two strangers (to me at least) sit. "Saix, these are our next door neighbours – Axel and Larxene. Guys, this is Saix."

I think it's going to be another awkward reintroduction full of pauses, but I barely have time to register Axel and his shock of red hair before he strides over and crushes me (and Xion) into a back breaking hug. "Saix, welcome back! We've been worried sick about you. You really don't remember me? Or her?" He gestures behind him to Larxene, a petite woman with slick blonde hair, and the grin on his face is a little too captivating. "How can you forget Larxene? Did she not strike you enough times with her viper's tongue?"

"…I'm sorry?"

"Oh, right. Well, let's start from scratch." He gestures to himself, and I vaguely note that he still has an arm round me. "I'm Axel. I teach sports at your kids' school. Three years qualified and the most popular teacher there. We're great friends, you think I'm cooler than Xemnas, and we like to hang out on Thursday evenings to compare the mental bruises Larxene dished out to us."

"Very funny," cuts in Larxene. Her voice is as impish and childish as she looks. When she hugs me, she has to stand on tiptoe. "Xemnas told us about your memory loss. No worry," she affirms. "We'll take it slow. I'll talk you through your life history, though that being said…" She falters, draws back from me and slaps Axel's hip when she catches him nodding sagely. "Don't you have work?"

"I do!" Axel exclaims. "Gone, babe."

"Have a nice day at school," I say to Demyx and Roxas, and I kiss their foreheads as they pass. Axel lifts Larxene to kiss her goodbye, but she swats him in an attempt to be put down and she hisses loudly, "Stop it! You're making things awkward between Xemnas and Saïx!"

"_I'm_ making it awkward? You just whispered in a very loud voice…!"

I take a step back before I realise I have done it. That tiny gesture is enough to wound both of us. "S-see you tonight?"

Xemnas' smile is a split second too late. "…See you tonight," he repeats, and then swoops down on Xion to give her a kiss.

"Go bye bye!" she cries. Xemnas shuts the door after the children and Axel. I sink back against the counter with a sigh.

"…That was terrible. I think I upset him."

Larxene rummages around the fridge and selects an apple to snack on. She's svelte and smells of strong, woody perfume, and she looks so pretty and confident that I can't quite believe that she's my best friend. She doesn't seem the sort of person I'd open up to. "Yeah, a peck on the cheek would've worked," she says truthfully, "but don't sweat, Xemnas is a big boy; he can cope. Right, photo albums seem the sensible place to start."

She lifts up her shoulder bag and wanders into the living room, apple in hand. There's a degree of untouchable elegance to Larxene, like a statue's initial uncanny resemblance to a human that then somehow goes beyond the limit. In the few minutes that I make tea for us, Larxene has managed to retrieve a large photo album and put on the stereo at low volume. It's a little disheartening to see she knows her way round my house better than I do.

"Sorry, I'm a bit liberal," says Larxene, and I'm momentarily stunned by her accuracy in reading my expression. She sits cross legged on the sofa, pulls her tea to her small lips and instructs, "Sit."

I do, taking the spot next to her with Xion in my lap.

"I'm going to do your face after this," says Larxene, "but first, here you go."

Though she passes the photo album to me, she insists on turning the pages. Larxene skips the first twenty or so. "That's all the immediate family. You already know them."

"I…I'd like to see, still." I tug at the pages and catch glimpses of a blue haired woman cradling toddlers with chubby cheeks and big smiles.

"Aha! Have you met him yet?" Larxene jabs a thin finger at someone with an eyepatch.

"That's Xigbar. I met him yesterday."

"Yeah, he's Xemnas' older brother and exceptionally talented at being a dick. He used to be in the army – a fully trained sniper. Then he did his eye in, and turned into a bitter old man who resents his brother's success. You and Xigbar really don't get on. In fact, you hate each other." She turns the page and doesn't give me much time to register this. "Sephiroth is this one here. He's Xemnas' younger brother."

Sephiroth has the same silvery hair as Xemnas, the same almond eyes and the same smile that's incredibly difficult to look away from. I trace the sparkling badges that adorn his blazer. "Is he with the military too?"

"No, the police. He's an inspector. He was the one who headed your case when you went missing. You like him. Sephiroth's got a natural charm about him but he always has his policeman head screwed on, so every time he makes conversation with people, it sounds like he's about to arrest you any second."

"So an ex-sniper, a police inspector…and Xemnas is just a salesman?"

"Always has been." Larxene shrugs. "Oh look, that's us!" She points to the next photo of events long lost, and in that panel of frozen time, the two of us are sporting face paint and a pout. "That was at a carnival one year ago, right before Xion arrived."

"She's one and a half," I point out. Larxene's mouth twitches a little.

"Ah," she says after a moment. "…Maybe it was two years ago then. Okay, see this guy here? That's Lex. He's Xemnas' best mate. Axel you already know…" She taps a photo of Axel trying to drink from two beer mugs, and I smile at it.

"How did you meet?"

"Like that, really," Larxene replies. "He was drunk and trying to get directions home."

"And how about us?" I ask next. "Did…Do we know each other from school, perhaps?"

"No, we met when you moved in next door, and Axel brought round a burned cake to welcome you."

"…I met Axel through you?"

"Yep. He's the bane of my life." Larxene snorts to herself, and it suggests to me that Axel is anything but. "Why are you surprised?"

"I don't know," I lie, because I actually do know. For one mad moment, I had been dead certain that Axel and I were childhood friends. I think about checking this with Larxene, but since I'm the amnesiac, I shouldn't be the one casting the doubt. I fidget instead, stroking the downy top of Xion's hair and swallowing down a giggle when she swings the book up to rest on her like a hat, and she bursts out laughing as though it's the funniest thing in the world. "So Xemnas is quite a…um, decent guy?"

"Yeah, he's all right," Larxene says, and the corner of her mouth tugs into an amused smile. "Not my type, mind you. He's a bit of a dork but he's very decent. You met him eight years ago and have been married for six. Hey, have you seen your wedding picture?"

I'm not sure I want to. Just the thought of seeing it makes me shiver and squirm with unjustifiable discomfort. On the one hand, it's a slap in the face, stark evidence of what I don't want to be true. On the other hand, it's my own damn wedding – why am I afraid of it?

"Here." Larxene hands over a silver framed photo, which she picked up from the mantelpiece, and while I'm so tempted to shut my eyes and pretend I've seen it, I'm drawn to it, like a horror film I have to witness out of curiosity.

It is, on the whole, beautiful. We look younger, fresher, excited at the thought of our futures woven into a single thread. His hands are a perfect fit to my waist and my whole body arches into his, flush and seamless. I wear an expression that I can't possibly replicate now; and the more I stare at the picture, the more I associate it with someone who isn't me. While I am busy scrutinising every aspect of the photo, the doorbell suddenly rings.

Larxene looks up and opens her mouth to volunteer, but I get there first. "I'll answer. Um…can you…?" I pass Xion to Larxene (who seems to seize up). "Maybe the children forgot something."

I open the front door, expecting to see Demyx or Roxas, but I come face to face with a woman instead. She has a massive bouquet of flowers in her arms.

"Hi," she says with a light smile. "Um…is Xemnas in?"

"He's just left for work," I answer. I'm torn between studying the colourful bunch or her pretty face. Her hair is blue, like mine, but tidier, more stylish, flicked at the nape and complementing her warm gaze. "…Are those flowers for him?" I'm supposed to be jealous, but since I have no attachment to Xemnas at all, I just sound curious instead.

"They're for the whole family," she corrects. "I wanted to stop by and um…wish you well. I heard from Xemnas that you were back home and recovering. I didn't think I'd see you in person, but I'm glad." She smiles and holds out the flowers. "Welcome back, Mrs Butler."

"Oh. Th-thank you, um…"

"Aqua," she supplies. "I'm so happy for you and Xemnas. He's cheered up considerably and he's very optimistic for your future."

"Oh," I say again. "…I haven't actually seen that side. I swear I just make him uncomfortable." I laugh nervously, and Aqua gives a sympathetic smile.

"You're very lucky," she says. "He's a wonderful man and he'll take care of you, the same way he always has done. If it's not too much trouble – I know you have your family to look after – I'd really love to spend some time with you, get to know you, as I'd like to apologise for the trouble I've caused and perhaps make up—"

A shadow falls across Aqua, and before I know it, Larxene has reached the door, taken one look at her and then stretched out a hand to shut the door in her face.

"Larxene," I exclaim. I try to reopen the door but Larxene's hand is firmly on the handle. "That was really rude…"

"Good. Come away."

"Who is she? Aqua."

Larxene passes Xion back to me. "You don't need to know Aqua," she says loftily. "Not yet, anyway. Okay, I'm going to do your face." She leans so close that I go cross eyed. "Now. What am I going to do with that scar?"

**~o~**

Larxene so happens to be a makeup artist. She runs image consulting sessions, workshops and gets to see her work in magazines and on billboards. She's overly critical and attentive to tiny details – which is the perfect approach for her job – and while she fusses over my scar, finding it incredibly insulting, I can't help but like her. She even passes along the freebies she gets from work, handing over designer shoes ("Pavé style? Not my thing," she said, practically throwing them at me) and consequently, explaining why I have so many nice outfits in my wardrobe.

I enjoy her brutal honesty, finding a bizarre sense of comfort when she criticises my tendency to always make myself the victim. She doesn't walk on eggshells around me, and it's not disheartening at all, to learn who I am – whether it's nice or not.

"Yeah, you can be a bit dramatic," says Larxene. "You worry a lot, have a tendency to be paranoid. But everyone gets like that," she adds, reading the small print of a foundation pot and frowning. "Honey, I'm sorry. I think that scar is with you for life. I don't think my blemish kit stands much chance."

"Oh. That's okay. Thanks for trying."

"It looks awful on you, but hey, maybe Xemnas will find it a bit of a turn on. Let me do your eyes. They're your best feature."

She dabs at my face with a makeup pad, and she raises her eyebrows when I meet her gaze. "Does it hurt?" I ask her.

"Does what hurt?"

"When I look at you, and you know that everything we've shared is just gone." I glance down at Xion. She's flicking through a picture book and running her fingers across the varying material on each page to stimulate her senses. "I'm really sorry I don't know who you are."

"It hurts a bit," Larxene admits. "But you're going to be okay. You and Xemnas are really close; he knows you better than anyone and he's going to take care of you. And Axel and I are only next door, so—"

I pull back.

"What's wrong?" asks Larxene. "The eyeshadow's new, but the colour suits, I promise."

My shoulders tense. It all seems so foreign, so _made up_, like the cosmetics Larxene is putting on me. A cover up, a perfect lie to conceal the ugliness underneath that is truth. I'm starting to remember things –

Axel used to be my friend.

Xemnas isn't my husband; he's my boss.

I'm number seven.

I'm mad.

—but they conflict and don't fit in _this_ world I've been reintroduced to. I'm suddenly terrified, not at my lack of memory, but at the prospect of recalling things that never actually _were_.

When Larxene leaves for work at lunchtime, I scour the house (with Xion on my hip) for more information about myself. I end up settling down with a handwritten recipe book and examining every inch of it, like a detective searching for clues or a grieving woman attempting to come to terms with her loss.

At half three, Axel drops off Roxas and Demyx, and they shower me with tales of what they did today. I congratulate Roxas on his Project Day end result – his team made the strongest bridge in class – and get handed a pair of trousers with a fraying hem as Demyx pulls a guilty face. "I fell over at lunchtime, Mama. I'm sorry."

"That's okay, I'll mend it. Um…do you know where my sewing box is?"

"On the bookshelf in the living room. You always keep it there."

When Xion falls asleep, I take her upstairs and call to the other two, "Why don't you go play in your rooms until dinnertime?"

Dinnertime doesn't throw me into a panic. Actually, I feel most comfortable in the kitchen, standing at the warmth of the cooker, shuffling around while cutting up the carrots, examining the photos pinned to the fridge as I wait for the vegetables to boil. The more I scrutinise them, the more alien it feels. Perhaps a clever computer artist managed to edit the photos to include me. Perhaps an even higher manipulator whipped up this family to revolve around me. My heart throbs behind my ribcage at the very thought; I can't tell if it's from dread or hope.

At six-thirty, the front door clicks open and Xemnas comes home. My stomach does flips.

"Hi," I say quickly, as he walks into the kitchen. "Dinner's almost ready."

"It smells great," he compliments, "I'm starving." He tosses his blazer onto the back of the head chair. "Good day?"

"Yes. You?"

"Good, thanks." He moves round the kitchen island to meet the thunderous footsteps on the stairs, and I realise it's a bit too late to move forwards to give him a kiss. I turn back to dinner, and it aches so much to be the jutting piece of the jigsaw. But I'll try, and I'll keep smiling, and I will be a mother and wife; or else I'll be thrown back to that ward, I know it.

I serve up dinner, and Xemnas puts Xion in her highchair. "Here you go, Roxas. And for you, Demyx." I practise their names, so often, so much, to get them to sound natural on my tongue. These are my children's names. I should know them back to front, inside out. They're the names I picked for them.

Xemnas sits at the head of the table, with Xion on his right and me on his left. His knee brushes against mine, and the heat from him lasts only a fraction of a second but it lingers.

"Mama," Roxas says all of a sudden. "…Mama, there's carrots in my dinner."

"Um," I start, though I don't know how I'm going to finish. Roxas stares at me, and the annoyance in his eyes burns into the back of my throat.

"I don't eat carrots, Mama," he says, exasperated.

"S-sorry, I forgot…"

"How can you forget?" Roxas cries, and I know he doesn't mean to hurt, he just doesn't _understand_ and god, neither do I. Xemnas stands up with his dinner plate and walks round to swap his peas with the carrots.

"You don't use that tone of voice with your mother," he scolds. "She's only just come back to us and there's a lot on her mind. Now say sorry."

"Sorry, Mama."

"That's all right. It's my fault anyway."

We resume eating. I don't feel too hungry any more. It isn't a matter of living here and being nice to everyone I meet while they make compromises with my memory loss. I'm not at the beginning, or the start line. I'm in the middle of a song, or a racetrack, or a book; I have to finish what I have already begun. And it's so hard.

When we finish dinner, I practically run to the kitchen to wash up. Xemnas follows me.

"Hey," he calls gently, "don't get discouraged. The kids aren't old enough to understand what you've been through; but give them time. Please give them time. And carry on – you're doing a great job. Sooner or later, something will trigger your memories, I'm sure of it…"

I set the taps running and opt to stare into the sink rather than my husband. I wet my lips, listening to – but not quite heeding – his words, and when he moves so that there's only a foot between us, and his hand runs down my arm, I wriggle out of reach.

"You're not real," I blurt out. He seizes up, as though his heart has just stopped. Maybe it has.

"…I'm sorry?"

"You're not real," I say again. The words rip out of my throat in their sense and logicality. "This whole world is made up. Everything is made up and you're expecting me to actually fall for it. I suddenly have this…this _family_, this house, this job…! It's all so fake and stupid and nothing makes sense! I mean, here I am, doing the washing up for people I barely know, and everyone's telling me who I am and what to do—"

"Saix, this _is_ your life, I promise—"

"How do I know that?" I snap back. "What are your promises to me? I mean, who are you?" My face flares up with the heat of anger, and I'm momentarily stunned by it. Briefly, all I can see is the whiteness of frustration, and then Xemnas' voice cuts in, so patient and pronounced, it's as if he's used to this kind of situation.

"Saix, I wouldn't lie to you about your life. No one you've met would. You've heard nothing but the truth. Talk to me." He gestures to a seat at the kitchen island. "You can talk to me. I'll help you. That's why I'm here."

"…Fine, you've told me truths," I murmur, stepping away from the sink, away from him. "But withholding information is as bad as telling me lies. Who's Aqua?" I demand. Xemnas pales, and he doesn't reply. "See? You're hiding things from me. I feel like I should be somewhere else."

"Where do you think you should be?"

"Not here."

He glances away from me. He might be checking to make sure his children are still upstairs. When he turns back to me, he wears a look on his face as though I have just kicked him. "…You don't like us?"

I flush, and the heat of anger fizzles into a prickling discomfort, before I let my uncertainty go. "My children," I stammer. "…They look nothing like me. They look nothing like you. Why don't they look like us?"

I don't realise I'm crying until he comes forward to wipe the tears with a thumb; in the blink of an eye, he ages ten years and takes me with him.

"…They're adopted, love," he murmurs.

My forehead pushes against his heart. He lets me cling onto him, despite the cruelty of my words, and again, I wonder if it's from experience. "…Who?" I manage to choke out.

"You," he says gently. "You can't have children. You were very ill and had to have an operation to save your life. I'm so sorry. Ssh, ssh." He cradles my face and there is the rushing feeling of complete security that makes the blow only slightly less painful. "I'm so sorry."

I grab my stomach, and he tries to pry the iron grip of my fingers away, still whispering those meaningless words of comfort. I cry so hard that my eyelids swell and I lose the ability to speak. And Xemnas – Xemnas just tries to keep what's left of me in one piece.

I think I knew it all along. The lack of stretch marks, the scars, the way Demyx would smile and I'd see no trace of myself, the emptiness I had in me right from the start.

**~x~**

Saïx wakes up with a greater understanding of how it feels to be missing something. He supposes it is a little narrow minded of him – and of the Organisation as a whole – to think a heart is all you can lose.

People lose things all the time.

You can lose an arm, or a finger, or have your kidney removed. You can lose a friendship or a love, you can lose track of time. You can lose your way, lose the plot, you can even lose your mind. You can miss people, miss the past, miss the moment.

You can miss the children who weren't allowed to be born.

All across this world, the next world, and the universe beyond what he knows, people are missing something, in every shape and form. Maybe it's this connection, the feeling of emptiness and failure that travels across the bridge they can't cross, that makes him certain.

He knows how it sounds and as the resident madman of the Castle, there is little hope for him, but he has to try. In his defence, how can he be expected to carry out his duties as an agent of the Organisation, when someone else's universe is in his head? And how will _she_ cope, when she realises she's not recalling false information, but truths and facts from an alternate reality?

He needs help. They both do.

"Saïx! Hey, slow down!" Xigbar skids over to take his arm. Saïx shakes him loose and hisses.

"You will _not_ touch me again!"

"But this corridor is a dead end. It just goes to the Superior's office and you know that the only time you can talk to him is during meetings. We've…you know, just come out of one."

"I'm aware of that." Saïx scowls and barges on ahead, damn the consequences of disobeying Number Two.

"No, really," Xigbar calls after him. "I'm speaking as a friend here. I did it once, and I still have marks on my arm from where those bloody energy beams struck me. You don't want to interrupt the Superior in his free time…!"

Saïx storms up to the large grey-bordered double doors, yanks down on the handles and bursts inside. He slams the door shut with enough force to make Xemnas look up from his work. The Superior is drowning in papers, files and books, and a tiny part Saïx finally appreciates the level of responsibility on his boss' shoulders.

"Perhaps Xigbar didn't brief you clearly enough," Xemnas says, and dips his head down to carry on writing. "I use meetings to communicate with the Organisation. All other hours are for private study."

"Xigbar explained this to me, but I don't care. Sir," he adds. "I have been trying to catch you on your own for the last two weeks, and now I have succeeded."

"My," Xemnas answers, idly turning a page. "Should I be worried?"

"No Sir," Saïx responds. "But I do not appreciate being ignored – and blatantly at that."

"You've been trying for two weeks? That's fourteen meetings and therefore, fourteen opportunities to talk. You are not being ignored, you are making yourself scarce of your own accord."

"Sir!" Saïx shouts at him, and he takes long strides to the desk. He slams his hands down, upsets a pile of reports and cloaks Xemnas in his shadow. "You are now mocking me. I want to be alone with you. I want to talk to you _in private_, about something. While I will readily admit that it is mainly a case of self-preservation, I also would like to keep it between us as I am only too willing for you to use the information as you please afterwards. Only you. I will not waste your time."

Xemnas sets his pen down, and there's a flicker of impatience in his amber eyes that Saïx knows not to ignore. He adds, "Sir," and Xemnas leans back in his chair and steeps his fingers.

"Ever since Number Nine's recruitment, you and Eight have taken one step up the ladder. One step," he reaffirms. "It is not such a great leap that you have the sudden authority to interrupt me out of hours and on top of it, _demand_ my attention."

"Yes, I quite agree, Sir, but this is urgent."

"So are these." Xemnas gestures to his reports. "Even more so now that you have disturbed their order."

Saïx ducks down behind the desk, taking the hint. He refuses to backtrack and call his approaching the Superior a bad idea. He's come this far and he isn't leaving without some sort of progress.

"Thank you," says Xemnas, as Saïx sets down the reports in order. "You may leave now. I suggest you calm down, and refrain from testing my patience again."

Saïx's knees lock up. He stays standing, and with both hands back on the desk and two feet apart, he stares until Xemnas looks up. "Saïx. You are beginning to be very difficult."

"I am a woman, Sir," Saïx says, enunciating every syllable, maintaining his hollow stare and relenting when there's a small click and Xemnas sets down his pen. His amber eyes glance up and down, and Saïx catches the subtle movement.

"Is that right?"

Saïx shuts his eyes – just two seconds to calm his frustration – and reopens them. "In an alternate universe," he finishes. "I suddenly find myself able to connect with a completely different world and setting, with another me. There are people there in that universe that run parallel to this universe. Like…for example, Vexen is a psychiatrist in a hospital. We all exist in this universe, Sir, _with _hearts. I can give you so much information that will contribute to your research into the heart."

Xemnas' lips thin, and his chest rises with a heavy sigh. "Sit down, Saïx." He conjures up an armchair similar to his own, and Saïx sinks into it, hoping that he is about to receive assistance, not a stern apprehending. "…We all exist in another universe," he repeats. "My problem is this: there is no guarantee is there that the universe itself exists. You are expecting me to take a leap of faith and believe you."

"Yes Sir."

"For now, assume I do. Why do you connect to this universe _now_? Why you?"

"The moon," Saïx answers. "I am still getting used to my element, and it curses me further. You tell me that in other worlds, the moon is a satellite that has a circle of orbit, and it has a gravitational pull. What about this world's moon, Kingdom Hearts, and its effect on me? Is it possible that Kingdom Hearts can bend the walls of universes, and can pull realities closer? I'd like to know, Sir."

Xemnas picks up his pen. Saïx believes he does it, not from finality, but from disconcertment. Saïx has set down his reasons; he just needs proof.

"I've never heard of such a claim," Xemnas says finally, and when he glances at Saïx, his mask of disinterest breaks. "But then again, you are the only one influenced by the moon. I will grant you the benefit of the doubt. Prove to me that you have this link. When I am convinced, then you may have my assistance."

"Thank you, Sir. That's very generous." Saïx gets up, confident – never mind he doesn't know how to prove himself – but Xemnas calls him back.

"One last thing." Xemnas rests his elbows on his desk, leaning forwards a little. "You say that we all exist in that world. Tell me, Saïx. Where am I in this universe?"

Saïx's hand pauses on the door handle, and he recalls the scent of cardamom and birch leaf. "You're my husband, Sir," he replies, and he leaves the office before Xemnas can say anything else.

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_A/N: Thanks very much for the reviews and hits, guys, I hope you're enjoying my fic. As always, reviews and feedback of any kind are greatly appreciated and encouraging. Thanks for reading!_


	4. Lunar Phases

_**Disclaimer:** Characters and settings are copyright to Square Enix_

_**A/N:** Chapter 3 for you all :) I had major edits done to my original draft and for some reason, Sephiroth has really wormed his way into this fic. I don't know if that's good or bad 0_o As always, thanks to the lovely people who alerted/fav'd/reviewed this fic! Love you all _

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**THE DICHOTOMY BETWEEN ME AND ME**

**CHAPTER 3: LUNAR PHASES**

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"Mama?" Roxas murmurs, before he repeats the word with certainty. "Mama!" He runs down the playground and slams into me. "But you only come on Fridays! It's Thursday today!"

"I know, I thought I'd surprise you. So...surprise!"

I'm at the school gates on a Thursday afternoon, with Xion in her pushchair and a notebook in my hand. I've been jotting down questions that pop into my head as I've walked round the neighbourhood.

"Fancy seeing you here," Axel remarks, with Demyx in tow. "You wanted to come out and explore, did you?"

"…That's pretty much it," I admit, and I jump in shock when Demyx promptly bursts into tears and hugs me so tight I think I am about to topple over.

I kneel down to receive him properly, and Roxas cries too and Xion just giggles, and I really do wish I could feel guilty for putting them through two horrible months. All three of my children have bright blue eyes and faces that bear no semblance to me or their father, but I ruffle their hair and tell them that I love them anyway.

Some kids don't run to their mothers. Others are collected by grandparents. Some are old enough to walk home by themselves. It makes me realise that all families are different. You can't really measure and plot the results onto a graph, and say that one is better than the other. It varies as much as every rush of a tide.

"Ah, they've missed you," says Axel, and I suppress a smile at his choice of clothes (a green tracksuit that clashes tremendously with his hair). "Let's walk you all home."

It surprises me how…well, _painless_ our journey home is. I was expecting unruly children, but they're anything but. For one thing, whenever we cross roads, Demyx's hand goes straight to my sleeve, and Roxas holds onto the pushchair. Xion loves watching the cars shoot by and shrieking after them, but she never once tries to climb out of her chair.

Axel surveys the open notebook in my hand and cranes his neck. "Anything I can help you with?"

"You could have a go," I say quietly, so as not to let the children hear. "I have plenty more."

"_Why do I edge away from pigeons?_" he reads out. "That's easy. You're afraid of birds. Well, just wary of them flying around near you. _Can I swim?_ I've seen you go paddling in the sea before, does that count? _Why does Larxene not like Aqua?_ Because she's a bitch," he says (thankfully low enough to miss the children's ears), and I try to ask him who he is referring to, when my next question throws me off guard. "_Why do I like Botanical Palace?_ That's the restaurant where Xemnas proposed to you."

"It is?" Colour floods my face and the pushchair wobbles a little at my momentary disorientation.

"Yeah, the guy wasn't afraid to embarrass you. You had a live band and more plants around you than people. From what I remember Larxene telling me, you fled to the toilets for a wee, came back and said yes." He snorts. "I don't think Larxene will be that adorable when I propose to her."

"_Are_ you going to?" I ask interestedly.

"Planning to. What do you think? Think she'll say yes?"

I squirm, as the very question feels like a bucket of ice cold water over my head. "…I don't really know her. Sorry."

Axel gives a wan smile, and he pats my back, and I have to wonder how people can be so patient with me. "Hey," he says, apparently able to read my mind. "You're still our Saïx."

When we turn the corner into our street, Axel walks two more yards and turns into his driveway. "I'll see you this evening then," he says. We say goodbye for now and as I turn, I jump at the sight of two people at the front door. I recognise one of them, who is tall and handsome with sleek silver hair and a permanently smug expression.

"Hi Uncle Seph," says Roxas. "Mama, can I…?"

"Of course." I pass him the house keys and he runs up to the front door. Sephiroth smiles at me, and he and the blonde officer next to him (who looks as happy as a wilting sunflower in summer) show me their police badges.

"Hello Saïx," says Sephiroth. "Is now a good time?"

**~o~**

Sephiroth is as patient and calm as his brother Xemnas. He doesn't seem to mind me taking my time in preparing tea and asking the children to settle down. In fact, he helps out a little, coercing Roxas and Demyx to do some crafts at the dining room while we occupy the kitchen. I keep Xion with me, keeping her firmly on my hip, so that I don't have to face these policemen on my own.

"So…are you here to interview me?" I ask.

"To some extent, yes." Sephiroth steeples his fingers. "We're also here just to get reacquainted and put you in touch with the police. We headed your case when you went missing; and now we're here to follow up on it."

"But…I've been found." I flush a little when I state the obvious. I feel like I'm missing something. Then again, the viewpoint of the specimen is quite a bit different to the ones holding the magnifying glass.

"That's right, Saïx. You're back now, but we're very interested in knowing where you were during that month, and why you left in the first place." Sephiroth takes a sip of tea while Cloud's eyes bore into me. "I realise that this is much to ask, particularly as you recall nothing of your past, let alone your fugue state. However, there's a chance you might have some recollections as you start your sessions with the doctors. Your first appointment is tonight?"

"Yes," I confirm. "Seven thirty. I'm sorry, Sephiroth—or Detective, is that?—"

"Sephiroth is fine."

"It's just that…I don't understand why it matters – where I went and why I went."

"Let's explain the why first," Sephiroth says. "Amnesia is repression, a tactic the brain uses to protect you. If you experienced something traumatic, and that memory was all you could think of, you'd be driven to madness. What does the brain do? It shuts down the source of hurt to save you. If you've been subjected to trauma, it's the police's duty to find and apprehend the one responsible."

I twist my lips. "…What kind of trauma?"

"Anything severe enough to knock you into a fugue state. Of course, without a memory, you won't be able to tell us much. But when you do have something to tell, someone for us to bring in, then do let us know." Sephiroth drums his fingers against the kitchen counter, mulling over his next words. "No matter whom it is you're implicating."

"Are you after someone in particular?" I set down my tea, and I lift my leg up and down to soothe Xion. "I understand you want to prosecute someone, but it's almost as though you have someone in mind."

"Ma'am," says Cloud, speaking for the first time, "we're actually casting a bit of doubt over your husband, Xemnas."

"But he's really nice," I argue.

"So was the nineteen year old bank clerk who last week murdered his own father," Sephiroth quips, and though his voice is so soft and gentle, it feels like the burn of a razor blade slicing skin.

"He's your _brother_," I enunciate, convinced he has worse memory than me. "I can't believe you'd accuse him of, I don't know, hurting me—"

"Not accuse," Sephiroth amends, "just consider. Saïx, I realise I sound unduly callous, but it's imperative I make myself approachable to you, even if it's to hear something I don't want to be true."

"You see, the day you disappeared, we ran a search through your house, and realised an overnight bag was missing. You packed a holdall which held your keys, purse and some toys for Xion, amongst other items we failed to locate in your home." Cloud arches his eyebrows at me, and my facial muscles go still, certain that any movement will be a betrayal of what I think. "To me, that spells out a woman who buckled under the pressure of something, and sought to escape. The strange thing is, of course, that although you packed for Xion, you never took her. You left her behind."

"I…Well…" I start, only to fill in the silence.

"To further add to the mystery," Cloud ploughs on, "we don't know where you went. By routine, we check familiar locations, talk to friends and relatives, sift through hours of CCTV footage, ask around for sightings. We got absolutely nothing, ma'am. No eyewitness accounts of a blue haired woman either on the run or suffering from amnesia. Not a single pixel on CCTV recordings, for thirty whole days. You quite literally disappeared."

I shiver a little, despite the sunlight pouring into the kitchen like it's a normal day.

"Don't you find that all rather odd, ma'am?" Cloud pushes.

I'm saved from answering when suddenly, Demyx's head pokes up by the kitchen counter and he hugs me round my waist. "Mama, you haven't baked this week."

"Baked?" I repeat.

"Mama bakes the best things in the world," Demyx enthuses to Cloud, who doesn't look interested at all. "She does cakes and biscuits and pies and Papa always says that Mama could make a proper chef cry because she's much better."

"Uh huh," Cloud utters. Demyx nods fiercely.

"A-and Uncle Xigbar and Uncle Sephiroth always come round three times—" he holds up the matching number of fingers "—a month, and Mama cooks for them and they say her cooking is the best."

Later, I will wonder (or more so worry) if I still have a flair for cookery; while Demyx natters, however, I just stare at Sephiroth, with the urge to call him a traitor on the tip of my tongue. Only a traitor could sit amongst family and feel no discomfort in destroying them. But then again, if Sephiroth is a betrayer for simply doing his job, what does that make me?

**~o~**

Like clockwork, the key turns at six thirty and Xemnas comes back from work. He's a little preoccupied taking off his blazer and loosening his tie, and I use it as an excuse to once again, refrain from kissing him hello.

"Hi. How was your day?"

"Good, thanks," Xemnas replies. "Yours?"

"Fine."

Roxas, for one, picks up on the lack of affection and sudden influx of brevity between his parents. He looks perturbed as he sets up the table, standing on tiptoe to reach the placemats. Xemnas can't force me into this role as mother and wife, and his disheartened expression shows he knows this.

I don't know if it's me or him who's more surprised, when I decide I can't stand Roxas' forlorn face, and quickly pat Xemnas' shoulders from behind. "So um…do you want to tell Papa about Uncle Sephiroth's visit today, Roxas?"

And as Roxas eagerly takes over the conversation, I feel a little better about myself. It might be painfully awkward and forced, but if it can fool the children, that's good enough.

At seven o'clock, we start getting ready. "Will Axel let us watch TV?" Roxas asks, as I help him put on his shoes.

"He'll let you watch your movies. Have you packed them, Demyx?"

"They're in my bag, Mama. You're going to come back from the hospital, aren't you?"

"Of course," I answer, and we hold hands as we go next door. Axel answers before there's a chance to ring the bell. "Thank you so much," I say to him.

"Pleasure." He ruffles Roxas' hair and steps forward to collect Xion from Xemnas' arms. "You go have fun at the hospital. Hope it all goes well."

"Hope so," I add with a nervous laugh. "With any luck, I'll convince them that I'm sane and fine."

"Hey," says Larxene, and her arm slides round Axel's waist. "Give us your house keys. We'll take them back home when they're tired and stay there."

"Oh, we won't be out that late," says Xemnas. "The appointment should only be for an hour or so—"

"Even better!" exclaims Axel. "So you'll finish for half eight. The night is young. You might as well go to the pub, or take a walk in the park—"

"Westhouse is usually quiet in the evenings," supplies Larxene. "Or how about bowling at Hansen Street?"

"There's a new ice rink open," Axel adds.

"Oh yeah, by Greengrove—"

"Perhaps," says Xemnas, but he hands our house keys over regardless.

We say goodbye and Xemnas leads me to our car. I can practically hear Larxene and Axel's grins of satisfaction at their meddling.

"Don't mind them." Xemnas gets into the car and switches on the engine. "I know they mean well, but I don't want to rush you or make you feel forced—"

"We could go out," I answer lightly. "After the appointment, I mean. I'd like that."

"All right. Well, we'll see how it goes."

He reverses into the dimly lit road and starts to drive out of town. For ten unbearable minutes, we say nothing to one another. He's busy driving, and I'm busy watching the neighbourhood roll by. When we start racing down a motorway, where Xemnas doesn't need to concentrate so much, I break the icy silence.

"…You know Sephiroth came over today. Um…He said I packed an overnight bag, the day I went missing. Why would I do something like that?"

"I don't know," Xemnas says, so gently that I wonder if he said it at all.

"He…he said that he might have to blame you."

"If a wife runs away from home, the husband's going to be the first point of call. It's his job to suspect."

It might just be the lighting. After all, we're racing down a motorway in the evening, and the lamps and road signs are whizzing past us. I shrink back, though, because Xemnas suddenly looks quite terrifying.

"…Do you blame yourself too?" I ask, tentative. His knuckles whiten on the wheel and he purses his lips.

"Of course," he mutters.

He says nothing else. I decide to stay quiet and let him drive. We pull into the hospital's car park and when he switches off the engine, it's as though he's switched off his true face. The mask is back on.

"So!" he says cheerfully. "Let's go meet your doctors."

I nod, and after shutting the car door, I head up the marble stairs to Radiant Garden Psychiatric Hospital. When Xemnas catches up, he tries to hold hands with me, but I wrap my arms around myself and nudge his shoulder, so that he puts his arm round my waist instead and suddenly, I'm in the safest spot in the world.

**~o~**

We arrive at Vexen's office, and it's interesting how Xemnas can correctly interpret – and expel – my shoulders suddenly tensing up without my permission. I'm afraid of the psychiatric ward, more so afraid of being left there. The thought that I might be digging my own grave by giving wrong answers terrifies me to death.

Xemnas squeezes my upper arm. "It's just a check up," he reiterates. "It doesn't matter what their verdict is. After this, we'll go straight home."

"Or go out?" I say hopefully.

"Or go out," he replies with a tiny smile. He knows as well as I do that this forced pretence of a couple in love is starting to do our heads in.

We knock and enter Doctor Newcombe's office. "Mr and Mrs Butler, good evening." Vexen shakes our hands and gestures to the sofa. "Take a seat. Let's get straight to business. No recall? Nothing to trigger your memory?"

I shake my head. "No, nothing yet."

"Well, let's not be too disheartened." Vexen scribbles on his clipboard and beckons Zexion and another assistant to join us. "Zexion and Riku were your main carers while you were detained in the psychiatric ward. I hope you don't mind them shadowing your case. You're the first fugue patient to ever arrive in this ward, you see; it's all very exciting, and a valuable experience for everyone." He eyes me up, not unlike a predator spotting fresh meat. "Now, Saïx, I understand that you may feel quite daunted at the prospect of talking to three strangers, but we are all professionals. What we are here to do is to discover the reason behind your fugue. In other words, we're trying to decipher your thoughts and your mind, for an explanation as to why your brain feels it needs to protect you."

"You only have to answer the questions you feel comfortable with," says Riku, and with the three of them armed with clipboards, I take the cushion next to me and hug it, in a bid to calm down. I don't think I'll be answering many questions then.

"You have quite a medical history, Mrs Butler," starts Zexion. "Can you tell us about it?"

"Um," I start, and I really wish Xemnas wouldn't fidget with his cufflinks. The nerves rub off on me. "I'm told that I had an operation to save my life. I came down with a cancer and had to have a supracervical hysterectomy. Before I could have children. Before I even met my husband, apparently."

"Good," encourages Vexen. "And on discovery of this, can you tell me how you felt? What thoughts went through you when Xemnas told you of your inability to conceive?"

"Um…sad, I guess. I suppose that before my fugue, I would have been extremely upset." I wave a hand as they scribble away on their clipboards. "But we still have children. They're all very lovely and I love my home. I don't think any feeling of failure from my inability to have children would cause a fugue state, not with them around."

"Perhaps not," Vexen says, "but we should keep our options open. It seems the most likely underlying reason. Xemnas, two months ago, you reported your wife missing. You told police that everything up to her disappearance had been completely normal. Her disappearance came out of the blue."

"That's right," answers Xemnas. "It was pretty sudden."

"Completely normal," repeats Vexen. "Saïx, what do you make of your life so far? Four days with your family at home – what do you make of it? Your _normal_ life."

I shrug. "Fine."

"You're a stay at home mum," Vexen reads off his notes. "A housewife. Your husband goes out to work every weekday, following set hours. You do housework every day. You make dinner for the family. You do breakfast and lunch, and cleaning and laundry and grocery shopping. On top of all this, you're looking after a child under two. Stress is a contributing factor of fugue. Is there any chance, Mrs Butler, that your 'completely normal' life got a little too stressful?"

I hug my cushion tighter. Xemnas feels rigid next to me. "Maybe," I agree, "but if it got too much, I would have sat down with my husband and talked about it, surely."

Vexen's eyes flicker and he glances at Xemnas, highly unconvinced. There's an awkward pause, because it's clear that we have different intentions and agendas. Xemnas wants his wife back. Vexen simply wants to understand the phenomenon of fugue. I don't really know what I want.

He throws questions around, scrutinising every aspect of my life and turning them over, trying to find a dark side, an opportunity to shout, "Aha!" when I accidentally admit that something in my life makes me unhappy.

"Perhaps I can draw your attention to something?" Zexion asks, as our session draws to a close and my head feels frazzled. I collapse into the sofa, drawing close to Xemnas.

"What is it?" asks Vexen.

"It's the dates of Saïx's disappearance." Zexion flips his board over to show us a list of dates. "I agree with you about getting to the bottom of the causes to her fugue state, but something doesn't sit right with me."

I lean forwards to read:

_April 13__th_

_May 14__th_

_June 11__th_

"April 13th. That's the day she went missing," says Xemnas.

"Correct. Then, on May 14th, she was recovered when a computer analyst brought her into the police station. She's detained in the psychiatric ward until the evening of June 11th, when she gets her memory back."

"The events all happened a month apart. This has been established before," Vexen says, impatient.

"But what are the odds though," Riku comments, "that two of these dates fell on a full moon? And the remaining date – when Saïx was found – was one day after full moon?"

My stomach drops a few inches. I grip Xemnas' hand so tight that he winces and has to tap my shoulder.

"The moon causing madness is stuff of legend," Vexen dismisses. "We're doctors, Riku. We use facts and precedents to assist others, not mythical hocus-pocus."

"Right," he answers, though his gaze lingers on me instead. "What do you think, ma'am?"

"I don't know," I murmur. "By those dates, you're saying that I went missing on a full moon, came back on a full moon and found the next day, and remembered who I was on the full moon after that. It sounds irrelevant. Or it would be," I stammer, suddenly perturbed by the event timing and a surge of realisation, "if it wasn't for…Um, the thing is…the moon's his elem—um, I'm thirsty."

I cut myself off. I remember now. There's another me in another universe. God, I _know_ that guy. I know his thoughts and movements, I _am_ him. It's all true, I know it is. But I can't afford to talk such insanity in a psychiatric hospital, or they really will lock me up here.

Xemnas passes me my cup of tea. "What I'd like to know is," he says carefully, "what's going to happen _next_ full moon when…whenever that is?"

"July 11th," Zexion supplies. "I'm afraid I can't say. This might just be a coincidence—"

"—and that yes, fugue states and moon phases are perhaps unrelated, as farfetched as that may seem," Vexen quips irritably. "If you intend on frightening our clients as opposed to looking for recovery, please carry on."

Zexion rolls his eyes, but it's Xemnas who answers. "With all due respect, Doctor, it's a pretty massive coincidence. I know it's just the moon, but Saïx's movements match up to its phases so perfectly that it's freaking me out."

Vexen shoots Zexion a deadly look. "Mr Butler, I realise your concern, but there are such things as coincidences. I am certain you'll come back post-July 11th, and wonder what all the worry was about."

"I might get more of my memory back," I say confidently.

"Or you might end up disappearing again," Riku says dully, and Xemnas blanches, as if he's just been struck.

"Enough of this nonsense!" Vexen exclaims. He very nearly slides off his armchair in exasperation. "Zexion, Riku, it's _insignificant_. If moon-madness existed, there would be books and theses written by reputable professors and doctors. There aren't. Now if you excuse me, I'm going to escort Mr and Mrs Butler out of this hospital on a positive, believable note. You are _healthy_, Mrs Butler," he tells me angrily. "You are recovering, and it does nothing but please me, to see you looking so well. We'll schedule another appointment for next week."

**~o~**

Xemnas and I make tense – but very mutual – comments on the appointment afterwards.

"That was weird."

"Yeah, extremely weird," he agrees. "A bit intense."

"Mm. I mean, it's the _moon_."

"Just the moon," Xemnas says firmly. "It's nothing to get concerned about."

There's a pause, where we exchange nervous smiles, and Xemnas folds his arms to rest on the steering wheel. He grins lightly. "Okay, so it's something to get _very_ concerned about. But we're in this together."

I think of the other me in the other universe, who I know exists. The more I think of him, the more I start to recall of his empty, hollow existence. His name is Saïx too. He's Number Seven.

Telling Xemnas all this may just be pushing my luck a little too far, no matter how nice he is.

"…Can I take you out for a drink?" Xemnas says after a minute.

"That'd be nice."

It really does feel like an accelerated first date. Xemnas drives to a champagne bar in a shopping centre, and by the time we've sat down in our little booth to pore over the menu, I have become accustomed to holding his hand. I don't know him very well, but he makes me feel safe at least. And even if he is a complete stranger, he's a stranger with whom I achieved so much, from three good children to a warm home and secure lifestyle.

I hide behind my menu at first, trying to decide on a champagne while bearing the price in mind. (Surely a salesman doesn't earn _that_ much money.) "So…Do you work at this shopping centre?"

"Yeah. The department store's left from here. It spans both floors and is pretty hard to miss."

"And you enjoy your job?"

"It can be quite fun," says Xemnas. "I get to meet a lot of people and it's all very relaxed. Are you wondering why I'm not with the army or police or something else equally exciting?"

"Yes," I admit, biting my lip into an awkward smile. "Sorry."

"No, it's fair play," he says, as kind as ever. "I'm a salesman because I want to be one."

"Oh." I fidget with a napkin ring, a little stunned because I've never considered retail to be an aspiration. "Well, I'm sure it's a um, rewarding job."

He favours me with a half smile. "Yeah, it is. Have you decided?" He taps the menu. We're still holding hands under the table, and with my palm turned up, I can feel the warmth of his thigh on the back of my hand.

"That one, if that's okay?" I point to a champagne cocktail with passion fruit purée and lemon juice, and Xemnas goes on to order two of them, along with some side dishes.

While we wait, I ask questions about our family. I discover that I'm an avid cook, enjoy scrapbooking and making keepsake boxes, and have a tendency to get carried away with cloud watching. He admits that he loves doing jigsaw puzzles in his free time, and that he is to blame for the numerous boxes dotted round our house. He goes on to tell me the specifics of our children. Demyx is a restless child who has proven to be quite disruptive in most lessons except music. Roxas, despite being younger, is more conscious of school and works harder; consequently, he is hit harder by failure and Xemnas advises that I be prepared for Roxas' tantrums. Xion's the golden girl of the family, always giggly and inquisitive; nothing makes her laugh more than her favourite toy sunglasses.

It's difficult to mistake the pride in Xemnas' voice for anything else when he enthuses about our family. He's eager to reinstate me, so to speak, and despite learning so much about him and me, I've yet to learn about 'him and me' in the collective sense. What are we like, as a couple? I wonder if we're close, if we have dozens of private jokes, if we still sleep together. Then, my thoughts linger on my packed bag on April 13th, and I wonder if that answers those questions.

Our cocktail flutes arrive in five minutes, and we make a quick – but significantly less awkward – toast to the Butler family. I relish the fruity, sparkling taste and my muscles relax at the numerous comforts to hand. Xemnas' body has turned slightly towards me, and his left arm rests on the top of the sofa as he surveys me over the rim of his glass. He suddenly looks his age, weary and lonely.

"Do you miss her?" I ask after a minute.

"Miss who?"

I smile, although I can't explain why. "Your wife."

We both stare into our cocktails, as though it's a crime to look into one another's eyes. "No," he says finally. "She's still here with me, and for that I'm very grateful."

"Still here – in some form or another," I amend. "I might be different, though. I'm not sure of the effect my memory loss has on me as a person."

"Do you want to test it out?" says Xemnas, and he points to the side dishes. Now that I look, there appears to be a small sample of each side dish, fitted onto one. I didn't know you could make requests like that – or perhaps Xemnas is friendly with the staff here.

"Okay then."

Our first date goes hurtling over the speed bumps and overlooking the signs to slow down. He snorts as I wrinkle my nose at olives. "Yuk, they're horrible!"

"You always did hate them," Xemnas remarks. "You used to complain about them spoiling your meals."

"Then why are you subjecting me to them?" I joke. I shiver at the very sight of olives and move onto the cheese puff. "That's nice. I love cheese. Is…is that the right answer?"

He returns my smile and nods. "You can't get enough of the stuff."

It becomes quite a fun (and borderline seductive) game after a few tries. By playing around with food and my reaction, Xemnas establishes how well he knows me and bit by bit, I start to feel wonderfully content around him. Of course, his good looks help to progress this feeling. On more than one occasion, I find myself sneaking glances at his amber eyes, elegant chin and silvery hair, when I should be making sure food goes in my mouth and not down my front.

I try buttered spinach and love it, and refuse to go anywhere near the roasted beets. "Those are answers the old you wouldn't have said," Xemnas reveals, and there's a little anxiety hiding behind the humour in his smile.

He finishes off the rest of his cocktail, and I have the feeling he is wondering if it's possible for me to go off him the way I have suddenly gone off roasted beets.

I can't be that fickle, surely. And in all honesty, there'd have to be a high level of madness in me to pack a bag and leave this clearly wonderful man.

"I think, at the moment," I say, slow and careful, and my voice reverberates against my flute, "my disappearance being down to the moon is much more likely than being down to you."

"…That's a very kind thing to say."

I shift a little on the sofa, and sitting in such close proximity (to the point I can count his eyelashes if I want to) isn't so awkward or daunting. "Sephiroth did ask for me for a suspect. Shall I ask him to interrogate the moon?"

Xemnas gives a light laugh. "You know he _will_ take your claim very seriously."

"I can imagine. He's got no qualms about the police investigating you." I finish off my champagne, survey the warm glow of the bar, feel the security that rushes through me from our locked hands, and I realise that maybe Sephiroth has no qualms, because he knows that Xemnas is innocent.

**~x~**

Saïx's reputation as 'the Nobody to be feared' grows over the next few weeks. Under any other circumstance, he would have welcomed the many advantages it presented, but Saïx doesn't want to be feared. He wants to be understood, and he can't unless he offers Xemnas the proof required of a universe existing next to them.

"It's your fault," he snaps at Demyx, when echoes of frustration get the better of him. He is paired up with Number Nine for their mission – examining Heartless in Halloween Town in order to add information to their Directory – but even Saïx really isn't in the mood to work. "If when you joined, I had given your name before the Superior had the chance to say it, that would have been proof enough."

"Saïx, um…I really have no idea what you're talking about. Am I supposed to? Oh look, Heartless!" He clambers over an iron wrought fence like a child spotting free sweets, and this sort of action doesn't help Saïx at all. It frustrates him to no end that he's always getting paired up with Demyx, who is the strongest reminder of that universe, which he could really do without. It's almost as though Xemnas knows the frustration it causes, and is spurred on by it.

"Okay, let's see if I remember this." Demyx unpacks the Organisation's makeshift scanner. It's another one of Vexen's inventions, of course, although this is arguably more useful than normal. "That's the _on_ button…um, what settings would I use?"

"Standard," Saïx snaps at him. "I've already set it up that way. You don't need to adjust anything. All you're doing is scanning the Heartless."

"Right, right," Demyx says firmly, as though he is trying to instil some of Saïx's resolve into himself. "It doesn't hurt them, does it?"

"So what if it does?" he replies, and he scowls when he sees the device being held upside down. "_That_ way round. Keep it still and focus. If you move it too much, you'll disrupt the point cloud, understand? The best way to get an accurate scan is to scan when they're unmoving – that is, one second before death. On this mission, we'll take it in turns to defeat Heartless and scan said Heartless. Every time we take a scan, it's saved onto the device. We need to get a variety of scans. The more scans, the more accurate the model will be. Afterwards, the scans are fed through the system back at the Castle, to extrapolate the subject – in this case, a Heartless – and create a model. It provides a reference, and contributes to our growing Directory of the types of Heartless and their characteristics."

Demyx lifts up his shoulders and hands into a nonplussed pose. "…You've lost me, X Face."

"Don't call me that," he answers tiredly, but that's as far as his temper extends. He could argue that it's his exhaustion talking – after all, he's been scanning Heartless for the last week – but Saïx knows it's really all about Demyx. He can't ignore him. He can't help but draw parallels with this Nobody and the other Demyx who, somewhere across the stars, is his son.

"All right," Saïx says. He wets his lips, settles back on a tombstone and like her, he prepares to talk Demyx through it again with unfounded patience. "Let's start from the beginning."

* * *

_**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Comments and feedback to let me know how I'm doing are greatly appreciated. _


	5. Curve Emphasis

_**Disclaimer:** Characters and settings are copyright to Disney / Square Enix._

_**A/N: **Many many thanks to the lovely people who read and reviewed my last chapter. Apologies for the slow update of this one, but the good news (for those who have been waiting for him) is that Marluxia is coming up next! _

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**The Dichotomy Between Me and Me**

**Chapter 4: Curve Emphasis**

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Larxene and Axel's house looks as though a hurricane has just hit it; and given Larxene's unnerving ferocity that makes me shrink into myself, it isn't too much a stretch of my imagination to assume the hurricane is her.

"Yeah, the house is a tip. Find yourself a seat. Just knock everything to the floor. Unfortunately, I live with a _skank_–"to further her point, she digs out an empty cigarette packet stuffed between the sofa cushions and throws it at Axel "–who doesn't know how to clean up after himself or, judging by his choice of attire today, even dress properly."

"Hey, it's _home_," Axel protests. He's only wearing a pair of linen trousers that ride dangerously low on his hips. "I'm allowed to go casual. Besides, we don't have to stand on ceremony around Saïx. We never do."

"Well, put on a shirt at least," Larxene compromises.

"Fine, fine," Axel sighs, "be back in a min."

I pick an armchair and move some magazines onto the table. They cover a variety of topics, from fashion and interior decorating to holiday brochures and computer advice. The house itself is sophisticated and yet clumsily trashed, caught between the elegant disharmony of Larxene wanting chic and Axel opting for natural. They are always arguing and teasing, like an endless comedy sketch that is only heightened in hilarity when Larxene has to look up sharply to address Axel, given her stature. He calls her his poison dwarf and she retaliates by snacking his hip or backside, yet in the wake of every antic, they are always grinning after one another.

I wonder if Xemnas and I used to toss affectionate insults at one another. In all honesty, I can't imagine it at all.

"Axel doesn't work on Fridays," Larxene says. She sets down a tray of hastily made tea and gives the biscuit tin a violent shake so that it spills onto a side plate. "Were you surprised when he answered the door? He said you looked horrified!"

I twist my fingers into the hem of my long top, pondering my answer so that I don't reveal my game. "Not horrified, more um…surprised, I guess."

In actuality, I harbour a bit of a girlish affection for Axel. I define it as a passing need for comfort as opposed to a crush (which is out of the question if I'm married). In all honesty, the emotional and sexual tension is driving Xemnas and me apart. He's too frightened to slip back into routine, worried that he might ward me off. Instead, he prefers to slink into nothingness, attempting to be as dull and unnoticeable as the grey suits he wears, and waits for me to either set the pace of our relationship. In comparison, Axel is a breath of fresh air.

"So…fill me in then," Larxene presses. She shakes the plate of biscuits at me and, a little wary of saying no, I take one for Xion to nibble on. "How is it looking for you and Xemnas? Are you going to pull through?"

She almost comes across as a nosy matchmaker keeping tabs on her plans, but Larxene is – and I start to realise this is a fundamental trait of hers – simply asking the questions I'm supposed to be asking myself. "I don't know," I admit. "He seems such a lovely guy, but I feel…well, cornered, I guess."

Larxene nods sagely. "Things are predetermined – the way you live, who you live with, the role you picked. You might feel cornered, but you're forgetting that these are all decisions _you_ made. Specifically, _Xemnas_ was your choice. Ultimately, it's down to whether you trust your own judgment."

"But I don't even know myself well enough to decide whether I'm trustworthy."

"Then trust us." Axel saunters into the living room – now wearing a vest – and slumps into the empty spot next to Larxene. I notice her muscles relax against him. "We've known you and Xemnas for five years. Perfect match, the two of you. You always had this look on your face that suggested you couldn't wait to jump back into bed with him."

"Stop that, you're embarrassing her," says Larxene as I flush, and she throws a cushion at Axel (lightly, and not without a quick smile either). "Put it this way, Saix. You were in love with him at first sight."

_So why not this time?_ I think about asking her, but I bite down on my tongue and mumble, "It's just that I know I'm going to love him out of obligation."

"Maybe at first," says Axel, "but that's because you're both pussyfooting around one another. I bet you can iron out the kinks if you just have a few drinks and screw."

It's a little too embarrassing to bear, yet a nervous smile creeps onto my face at their lack of doubt in me. Larxene throws another cushion at Axel, jumping to my defence, but it upsets the biscuit plate instead.

"Bastard! Now look what you made me do…!"

They launch into an argument about who should clean up, and I hide a smile when Axel shoves two or three biscuits into Larxene's mouth in a bid to make her shut up. Xion screams happily and claps her hands at the play fighting, and I have to hold her tight to keep her on my lap; but I too, am enthralled by the harmony between them, and more so guilty on my part. I think back on Xemnas and the million feet wide gap concentrated into the bands on our ring fingers, and as if I have subconsciously willed for an opportunity, one more chance for me set a pace, the telephone rings.

Larxene scrambles for it, fighting off Axel with a foot. "H-hello?" she snickers down the phone. "Oh, hello! Yeah, she's with us. No, don't mind me, I'm just fighting with the usual suspect." She throws the receiver to me but with such a bad toss, it clatters onto the coffee table between us and upsets a cup of tea. "Saïx honey, it's your husband."

I take the phone and cradle it against my ear, firmly encouraging myself to make the massive leap I know I have to do eventually. "Hello?"

"Hello love, it's me."

"Dada!" Xion cries, and her eager hands scrabble for the phone. I can hear Xemnas laughing, cooing back at her, and then he says, "I just rang home but there was no answer, so I figured you'd be here. How are you?"

"Very good. It's nice with Axel and Larxene. They've very welcoming," I elaborate. "Are you okay at work?"

"Yeah, fine. Very quiet as it's Friday. I actually called because I'd like to take you and the kids out to dinner."

"Oh…" I flush and take a deep breath to still the world, although I am only being asked out by my husband – hardly a life-changing event. Larxene catches my rosy complexion and nudges Axel's ribs. As such, it's quite difficult to concentrate on what I'm saying. "Um…sure…that sounds great."

"Great. It's at Pelagos. My brothers are coming along too, and so is a work colleague of mine. It's quite a big gathering – is that all right with you?" He sounds painfully hesitant, as though his voice alone deals me irreparable damage.

"Sounds great," I say again.

"All right. Well I'll swing the car by after work and pick you and the kids up. No need to cook dinner. Obviously." The hesitance is there again, and pauses are so much more evident when I only have sound to go on. "…I've missed you today," he adds.

I squeeze the phone tight, but my surroundings insist on rocking. His waking words spill through me like a crashing wave that stirs a sleeping bed of sand and suddenly, I wish for nothing more than to be able to see him.

"Me too," I murmur to him. "I've missed you too."

From their cosy spot on the sofa, Larxene and Axel exchange knowing looks with one another, as if I am a soap opera and they have already read what happens next week.

"See you later then, love."

"Bye," I answer, and tilt the phone so that Xion can repeat after me. "We're going out for a dinner," I tell Axel and Larxene, and my stomach does a flip. "At Pelagos. Which restaurant is that?"

"One of your favourites," says Axel. "Is it a date?"

"No, more like a family outing, plus a work colleague. I should have asked if I'm meant to dress up or not…"

"Well, the colleague isn't going to be anyone but Mr Lawrence, and an evening dress will do fine at Pelagos," Larxene says. "Oh, I know! What about that dress from the autumn sale last year?"

"The one where you attacked some poor bird with your kitten heels?" Axel remarks.

"No, that was at the Erwin exhibition. The bitch deserved it," Larxene says absently. (Axel whispers to me, "I actually made that up…") "No, I was talking about the dark blue, nearly black dress. Asymmetric hemline, ruched under the bust for some curve emphasis. Oh!" Larxene wriggles, her legs curling up to Axel lap. "She wore it to Lex's leaving do. Or leaving-to-start-work do, whatever he called it. The one where I ordered a taxi back home and Belle randomly joined us as if it was okay and I tried to push her out the cab window."

"Oh yeah, I remember that. Good times," says Axel. "That _is_ a nice choice of dress. Subtle and smooth." He nods to me, and he and Larxene lean forwards, like two wolves eyeing up fresh meat. "You should wear it."

**~o~**

There is nothing subtle about a dress that has 'curve emphasis', is missing sleeves and does a poor job in containing my cleavage.

"Larxene, it's too much. I look—"

"What?" she cuts in impatiently. "Beautiful?" She sits on my bed and begins to sift through the numerous shrugs. "You know, Saïx, it's a common misconception that all mothers are drab and have had the life sucked out of them by their brats. Hell, it's what I always thought until you moved in next door. But you're pretty and fun, and you work in tandem with your kids as opposed to dominating or submitting. Those three children couldn't have asked for a better mother."

I smooth my front, not quite able to believe that it's still me in the mirror. I seem prettier, more appealing; the empty space inside me is wrapped up. I'm surprised a blue dress can generate so much confidence. "Will you have children?" I ask Larxene. She wrinkles her nose.

"No, I really don't think so. I'm selfish, and I'll happily admit that. Axel is too, and we both know that mentality isn't a turbo mat on the road to parenthood, but more a flashing warning sign screaming _don't do it_." She laughs and holds up a silvery shrug. "We used to joke about swapping lives and make bets on how long we'd last in each other's shoes – not very long," she adds, and though she sounds pleasant, there's a wistful smile. "You used to bore me with tales about how you found the dream pushchair while I used you as my canvas. Whenever you argued with Xemnas, you used to ring me up and get me to agree with your point. You told me all your secrets and you listened to mine. You were the only one besides Axel to ever fight me back. You used to text me at perfect moments, as if you could tell when I was feeling down."

A strange expression crosses Larxene's impish face, and it takes me a few seconds before I realise she's letting a sliver of truth melt through her stony eyes. She's missing the old me too.

"It's funny," I murmur, looking through the mirror at Larxene. "When people talk about me, it sounds as though I'm dead."

"I was just thinking that," she admits. Her slender fingers smooth the back of my head as she admires her handiwork. "But you're not dead, Saix. Just sleeping."

**~o~**

That evening, Roxas and Demyx stare after me forlornly as I rush around the house to get ready and look after Xion at the same time. Eventually, I realise they're not waiting at the door in anticipation of going out; they're expecting me to do something.

"Are you two okay?" I ask. I wriggle my feet into my shoes and hand them their coats.

"Mama, it's Friday," says Roxas. Demyx's lower lip wobbles. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"…It's very likely. Remind me?"

"Friday is pocket money day." Demyx shuffles, nervous.

"Oh…yes, of course! Silly me." I improvise. "Um…so how do I pay you pocket money?"

Thankfully, they guide me to my handbag so that I have a vague understanding of what I'm doing. Of course, as a housewife, I have no direct source of income, but as Xemnas explained to me a few days back, a cut of his monthly wages goes to me for housekeeping. I rifle through my change purse and hand over a generous amount of coins. "Here you go. You can have some extra because I forgot."

I still have so much to learn about the family I live with, but I think I'm getting there. When I see my sons cackle over their pocket money as though they have just earned a fortune, I feel an effortless uplift in my mood. This good mood is what greets Xemnas, when he unlocks the front door at half six and says, "Are you ready to go, kids?"

He nods and smiles at me. "Hey. You all right?"

"Good, thank you." I do the buckles on Xion's shoes, lift her to my hip and, deciding that this formality between us has gone on long enough, close the gap between Xemnas and myself. I catch his quizzical look before I push my lips to his. It's technically my first kiss, but the way my body arcs into his suggests that there's a deep resonance of memory ingrained in me, and that this might actually be my ten thousandth.

Xemnas drives us to a restaurant in the centre of town. I recognise the place as soon as I see its bright, fish shaped sign. Pelagos is an underground restaurant that is renowned for housing a massive aquarium that guests can observe while dining. We all take on a blue hue from the lighting as we head down a curling set of stairs to our reserved table. Sephiroth and Xigbar are already there, and so is (who I presume to be) Mr Lawrence.

Xemnas fights a quick battle to get a wriggling Roxas away from the aquarium into his seat. "Later," he says. "Sit down first so that we can order, and then you can go and see."

"You better pry your wife away from the glass too," remarks Sephiroth, and I jump a little. I hadn't even noticed that my feet had taken me to the tank. I tear my gaze away from the serene sight of colourful fish and bubblestreams, and give Xemnas an apologetic look.

Mr Lawrence stands up to shake hands with me. He wears a similar suit to Xemnas', and sports short blonde hair, icy blue eyes and a perfectly trimmed goatee. "Saix, welcome back."

"This is Luxord Lawrence," Xemnas introduces. "He's my work colleague."

I'm momentarily stunned by the smooth, alliterative name and Luxord's equally smooth demeanour; then, I outstretch my hand. "Hi again," I answer.

"You're looking well," says Luxord. "The last time I saw you, you weren't quite so healthy looking, and obviously before that, you were missing."

Xemnas cringes at this point and gives a vigorous shake of his head as he tries to keep our children in the dark.

"Mama didn't go missing," Demyx corrects him. He picks a seat and starts to pore over the menu. "Uncle Xigbar said she had to go to hospital because she caught a contagious disease and nearly died."

"Oh yes, that's right," Luxord amends, giving Xigbar an odd look. "My mistake."

As we settle down to dine, I realise that Xemnas has really thought this through. By the generous gathering, I don't feel singled out or the centre of attention. I can slink into small conversations without the pressure of standing on ceremony. The presence of our children means the night is informal and I don't feel like I have come for an interrogation. Given the amount of activity at the table, there isn't even a second for me to think I don't belong here. The aquarium serves as a distraction for Demyx and Roxas, so that I can discuss the fugue state they don't know about, without the fear of being overheard.

"Incredible," Luxord remarks, when I explain to him in my own words – complete with um's and er's – what a life after a fugue state is like. "So it's like this great, big, prolonged hangover from hell?"

I stop winding noodles round my fork. "Um…yes, you could put it that way."

Luxord nods sagely. "It's exactly like that," he says. "The thing about hangovers? You don't need to remember the fine details to know you had one heck of a time. Isn't it interesting how it's only people you don't remember? Everything else you've retained – you remember how to talk, do simple things like put on the kettle, even maintain a nice sense of style—"

"Oh…this was more Larxene's idea."

"A problem with people," Luxord muses, and he frowns as though he's trying to answer an impossible maths question. "Enough to prompt a fugue state. Bizarre, really. The Saix I knew was a natural around people. Always the centre of attention, very emotional, quick to sympathise, defensive and protective. What about your hobbies and interests? Are they still the same?"

"…Um, I would think so."

"What about your cooking? The talent still there and the food still excellent?" Luxord presses.

"I uh…I don't think it's for me to say whether it's excellent or not…"

"It's so weird," surmises Luxord. "I'm talking to you and you don't have a _clue_ who I am."

He doesn't sound insulted, just fascinated. Still, I glance across the table at Xemnas helplessly, but I realise he's moved from his seat and he's actually standing behind me. His hands squeeze my shoulders.

"She's pretty much the same Saix as before," he reaffirms, and he bends to kiss my cheek. He's only saying what he wants to be true, yet he sounds so happy that for a split second, I really do feel like his wife.

At dessert time, we adults have a glass of wine and the children squabble over which cake to order. I find myself preferring to watch the giant tank of fish over making conversation with the men, because I can tell my absence makes a difference – particularly to the level of Xemnas' laughter. I count tropical fish with Demyx and giggle when Roxas '_eww!_'s at a large breed of lobster. When I carry Xion on my hip, she insists on coming close to the floor length panel of glass to better see the fish. I step forwards, three inches away from the pane and in the dark lighting, I spot my marred-by-water reflection. If I squint, I rather look like him. I stare at the X mark on my face, wondering if it will ever heal up, when I realise something.

"Your name." I wander back to the table, cutting into the men's conversation by tapping Luxord's shoulder. "…It has an X in it, doesn't it?"

Luxord, Xigbar and Xemnas look perplexed. Sephiroth isn't so ruffled.

"Yes," Luxord says, slow and polite. "There is an X in it. Er…does it offend you or something?"

"No," I answer quickly. "It's just…well, a bit relevant."

"Oh yeah?" says Xigbar. His voice is unusually cutting. "Why's that?"

"Um…" I falter, and hold Xion tight against me as if she is the perfect shield to protect me from the stares. "It…doesn't seem so relevant after all. Sorry. I'm a little random at times."

"That's all right, you're still adjusting. We're patient people." Sephiroth shrugs and takes a sip of his wine, convinced I am a helpless and relocated puppy. Xemnas pulls out the chair next to him, but I don't take it.

"I need the loo," I lie, and he stands up to try and take Xion from me. I step back. "I'll change her nappy while I'm there."

"All right. I'll look after the boys. Are you sure you're okay?" Xemnas gives me a once over. "We can leave if you want."

"I'm fine. Except I really need the loo." I smile quickly, snatch up my handbag and weave through the busy tables to the bathroom. There's no one else in there, which is a blessing. I assume that the food and aquarium are just too captivating to break away from, even to go to the toilet. It suits me fine. I break out a nappy, pull down the changing table and lift Xion onto it. Before I know it, I'm doing the task as a mother and crying like a three year old.

I don't even know why. I'm not sure I'm _sad_, or happy at that. It's almost by reflex, by a subconscious will. Then, I think to myself, it much just be weight – not of the role I'm expected to fulfil, but the odd fragments of glass my mind keeps stumbling over. The X, for example. Demyx's beautifully adult face. The moon, and my perfect line up to it.

I have to try something.

After I change Xion's nappy, I take out my notebook, flick to the back and begin to scribble, while I have the nerve and the desire. Then, feeling only marginally better, I exit the bathroom and promptly bump into someone. "Ouch! S-sorry!"

It's Sephiroth. He's got his arms folded, and he wears his policeman look that makes me afraid he is reading my thoughts. "I thought I'd catch you here, away from the others. Don't worry," he adds with a sly smile, "I'm not going to interrogate you about the case, I'm just returning this."

My hand curls round a rectangular device.

"Your phone," Sephiroth elaborates. "We took it to assist in our investigation, but given its uselessness, it can now be returned. The only thing it clarified was that you rather enjoy sending text messages to a certain someone."

**~o~**

We go home at just gone nine, and it's quite smooth sailing getting the children into the car. With their stomachs full of dinner and dessert, and their minds still high from the vivid sight of tropical fish, they fall asleep in the backseats. It's a silent journey home.

Well, it is, until Xemnas abruptly says, "You look nice."

I glance down at the dark blue hem of my dress that pokes out from under my coat. "Larxene was the one who put it together."

He steers onto the motorway. "Still," he replies, and he leaves it at that.

I opt to check my phone's sent messages and inbox, reading things I once sent but don't remember doing. There's one text that I sent to Larxene that says '_pink blue yellow silver_'and as I match it up to Larxene's response of '_Pink! Quick!_' I make up scenarios in my head to imagine what we might have been talking about. There are a few joke texts from Axel, one random message from someone called Lex, and plenty of excuses from a girl named Yuffie.

A quick skim of my phone history is enough to show me that Xemnas has the most of my attention. There are messages from me to him that make me blush at the thought of policemen reading them. (For a thirty year old mother of three, I seem uncomfortably saucy.) On the day I went missing – April 13th – I received one text message, from Xemnas. It just says '_Call me?_' and compelled by the intricate way he was once weaved into my life, I brush my fingers against his wrist when he reaches for the gearstick.

The children are practically sleepwalking when I get them to go inside, brush their teeth and go to bed. I methodically follow the routine of kissing each child goodnight, shutting their door and locking up the house. Xemnas is in our bedroom, fetching his night stuff before going downstairs to sleep on the sofa.

"'Night," he says, and he gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Goodnight. And thanks for taking me out tonight. I enjoyed myself."

"No, thank you for coming along."

I realise that it seems to take very little effort on my part to make him smile. Perhaps at some moments, I channel the woman he loves and just for a handful of seconds, he feels better. I still haven't forgotten his admittance that he blames himself for what happened to me, and now, I can only be convinced that that's an action from selflessness, and not guilt.

"Xemnas?"

He pauses on the stairs. "What is it?"

"Listen, um…" I hover by the bedroom door, hoping that most of my nerves are kept under wraps. "If I had something I wanted to talk about…you'd be the person I'd talk to, wouldn't you? No matter how strange or unbelievable the topic?"

"You can talk to me about anything," he says simply.

"Right. Well, um…I might do that then. But after July 11th, if that's okay?" To my great relief, he doesn't press for information. His eyebrows raise a fraction, but then he nods and crosses the landing to wrap me into his arms.

I have imagined Xemnas in a carnal way. He is my husband, after all. On numerous occasions, I have pictured him in bed with me, and wondered what is hidden behind his boring grey suit. Sometimes, I have imagined the look that crosses his face when I present my unclothed self to him, and have imagined my pale, bony body suddenly become a work of art when pushed against bronze skin. All these thoughts have just been fuelled by lustful curiosity; the passion behind them doesn't come as close as to now, when I hug him tight and feel my heart still at his reliable yet brutal affirmation – that nothing I say will make him leave.

I curl up in bed, and just before I flick off the bedside lamp, I reopen my notebook and finish off the message I started in Pelagos' bathroom. I reread it, memorise it, ingrain it in my memory so that somewhere across a bridge to another universe, someone else will discover it and hopefully, answer back.

_Dear Saix_

_Hello. My name is Saix too. I think you know a lot about me, the same way I know about you. It's nice to be able to 'talk' to someone without having to explain my tangled thoughts._

_I have lost my memory (thirty years' worth!) and also lost my womb to a cancer. I feel very empty, and am sure you can relate. But, just because we have some pieces missing, it doesn't mean we're lost causes – does it? What do you think?_

_Some strange things are happening between the moon and me. It's a little frightening, but you seem accustomed to being governed by a celestial object._

_I would love to hear from you. Lastly, the names Roxas, Xion, Larxene and Luxord may be of use to you in the future._

_Saix_

**~x~**

Demyx stares, eyebrows steadily becoming one, and then he finally breaks the silence down the vast expanse of the corridor. "_The Blue Lunatic_?" he screeches, and Saix seizes up in a bid to not flinch at the horrific tone of voice.

"Yes," he says flatly. "That's my designated name. Do not feign disgust. Our names are a gift from the Superior."

He portals into the dark recesses of Halloween Town – scanning with Number Nine once again – and Demyx trails after him like an overcurious child. (Which, Saix thinks with gritted teeth, isn't an analogy he wants to be making when he's connected to that alternate universe.)

"I _am_ disgusted," he reaffirms, running a few steps to keep up. "No one wants to be labelled a lunatic! It's rude. I mean, don't you find it insulting?"

Saix resists the urge to roll his eyes, preferring to concentrate on locating Heartless. "I don't have the capacity to find it insulting. Anyhow, all names stem from truth. I'm labelled blue because of my hair and perhaps my disposition in my former life. I'm labelled a lunatic because I am."

"That's not the point." Demyx switches on the Heartless scanner. (It has only taken him three to four weeks to work out how to set it up.) "Even if it's _true_, it's not fair to…I don't know, _highlight_ it or choose it over a _nicer_ title."

Every time Demyx puts emphasis on a word, he gesticulates and pulls an assortment of faces that Saix has long forgotten how to adopt. "The Superior's decisions aren't to be questioned."

"Yeah, but if you _could_ decide for yourself – you know, override his orders – you wouldn't pick 'Lunatic' would you?"

"There's no other way to describe me," Saix replies, terser than usual as he knows that being mad is tolerated in this universe as well it is in hers. "Just get on with the mission, Demyx."

Demyx adjusts the settings to their scanner, but he doesn't drop the topic. "So how are you a lunatic? If you ask me, I've seen weirder folk around these parts."

"I'm not asking you. I will never ask for your opinion on anything."

But Demyx gives an unaffected shrug and says, "Ah, too bad," and is perhaps aware of his inability to feel criticised – or maybe he's just an idiot. "I do like to chat to people. It's friendly, you know?"

Saix snatches the scanner. Apparently, Demyx can't work and talk at the same time. "Is that why you joined the Organisation? To make friends?" he spits.

"I joined because they asked," says Demyx. "How about you?" He rounds the question back onto Saix in a move that is unusually wily for him. "Or was simply a case of knowing that madmen have nowhere else?"

"I joined because—_Xigbar_?"

"What?"

Saix checks his scanner and that's definitely a shaky point cloud drawn up of Number Two. He glances up, scouring the graves until he catches two dark figures. Xigbar lifts a hand in greeting and begins to step across the flat tombs idly.

"Seven, Nine," he says in greeting. "On a mission, are you?" He makes a sweeping gesture to the cowering figure behind him. "Our Number Ten. Finally, after months of searching, we hit two digits. Incredible element, this one. Mind you, he isn't particularly chatty. I was just showing him the sights of this Heartless-infested town, but he doesn't find it impressive."

Saix eyes the cloaked Number Ten, and he recognises the ice blue gaze and elegant posture. His mind is suddenly flooded with thoughts of a world that isn't his, and he realises that the perfect opportunity has just presented itself. "What time is his induction?"

"An hour from now. Axel's scheduled to come back from his mission at that time," replies Xigbar. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees Saix summoning a portal. "Hey! What about your mission?"

"You can do it," Saix responds swiftly. "It's clear to me that you being a tour guide isn't an assigned mission, more an escape route."

"And where are you going to go?"

"To the Superior." Saix steps through his portal, just as Xigbar remarks, "He just doesn't learn!"

Saix returns to the Castle, at the familiar expanse of corridor that leads to the Superior's office. He's walked up and down it for weeks on end but until now, he has never been armed with a good enough reason to knock on the double doors that await him.

Not that Saix does actually knock. He's past the stage of showing respect to the Superior who just pisses on him, regardless. Instead, he deliberately acts insolent – ignoring the private study rule, occasionally omitting 'Sir', staring at him in the eye – not in an attempt to provoke, but to make himself difficult to forget. Xemnas would argue that he is too busy and involved in his own matters to criticise Saix's tactless disregard, but it's more that he and Saix, together, prefer this turbulent relationship that is such a convincing distraction from their true, shell-like selves.

Saix throws open the double doors to Xemnas' office and storms inside. Xemnas doesn't bother looking up; he's immersed in a reading a hardback book with yellowing, curling corners.

"Saix," Xemnas greets, bored and weary. "Once again, I find myself having to adjust my schedule to accommodate you."

"Yes," Saix agrees. He drops into the armchair opposite his boss – which has never been removed on creation – and beckons for a pen. Xemnas passes one wordlessly. "Xigbar recruited a new Nobody today. I have seen his face, and I know who he is."

Only then does Xemnas look up from his work. He props his head up on a tired arm. "…You are about to pester me with regards to your 'connection'."

"No Sir," Saix replies. "I am about to prove it to you."

He scribbles on a thin strip of paper, which he then folds up into a pretzel-like knot. He puts it on the open book Xemnas is reading; it slips down the small crevice where the pages meet. "I have written Number Ten's name. You haven't even thought it up, but I already know what you will call him."

"I do not have time for your games, Saix."

"Why not?" he replies easily. "If I am wrong, then you can take satisfaction in your victory. If I am right, then I'm suddenly your greatest asset. I'm a window to the heart you wish to understand. You'll have plenty of time for me."

"Very well. You may leave. I trust you have missions to be getting on with."

"Yes Sir." Saix decides not to tell his boss that his mission isn't legitimate, as such. He leaves the office, portals back to his room and scrabbles for his journals. Every Organisation member keeps a daily record, mainly for the sake of progress but in addition, to simply have something to do. However, only Saix keeps two – one to record his activities as Number Seven, the other to record _her_ movements.

Luxord is only a means to quell the Superior's doubts; Saix doesn't need such proof. He _knows_ she exists. (Or perhaps he just wants her to. If anything, Nobodies are remarkably talented in the suspension of disbelief.) Between his missions and rest, Saix writes about her, records and remembers all he can about her life, from sketches of bedrooms, layout of her home, descriptions of the various smells and tastes of the tangible and intangible; and now, he will use it to answer her.

_Saix Butler_

_The sensation of feeling like a defect is the closest thing I have to emotion. We are both incomplete and questioning our existence, but you are armed with a heart. With a heart, you can build new memories to fill in where they used to be. I have years of memories and recollections, but they have little relevance to me while I remain heartless. You, at the very least, are not a lost cause._

_The moon is not exclusively an object of fear. While many cultures seek to highlight her as a bringer of madness and misfortune, the moon is equally revered as she is said to awaken the subconscious mind. Given our situation, she clearly goes beyond this. To label ourselves as mad or fortunate is by our own admission._

_Lastly, Luxord has joined our ranks. It will not be long before Roxas, Xion and Larxene are recruited. That the Organisation is fated to grow fills me with a memory of how it felt to hope._

_Saix_

* * *

_**A/N: **Thanks for reading! Comments and feedback are gratefully received, and apologies for chapter length (they seem to be getting longer and longer in this fic!)_


	6. Starter Pieces

_**A/N: **Here's chapter 5 for you - apologies for the late update! Many thanks to the lovely people who reviewed in the meantime. Without any further ado, I bring you Marly :)_

_**Disclaimer: **Characters and settings are copyright to Square Enix._

* * *

**The Dichotomy Between Me and Me**

**Chapter 5: Starter Pieces**

* * *

One Monday morning, I drop an earring. While on my hands and knees to find it, I discover there's a long case under Xemnas' side of the bed. It's lightly coated in dust, and when I pull it out and flick up the buckles, I discover there's an acoustic guitar asleep in there. Polished and seemingly untouched, I'm a little nervous of damaging it, so I lock it up and put it back.

Xemnas is making breakfast today – the first time I have seen such a thing – when I wander downstairs to kiss him good morning. He's been making conversation with Xion, whose only input is, "Cheese!"

"Did I oversleep?"

"No," he answers, "I woke up early. It's the uh…7th July today."

"Full moon's on the 11th," I reply, thinking I'm on the ball until Xemnas pulls a strange face.

"What I meant was that it's your birthday today."

"Oh. Oh wow," I stammer. "I'd forgotten that I'd forgotten my birthday."

He smiles and from behind him, takes out a bouquet of flowers and a card. "Here. It's not much, but I figured anything else would be inappropriate."

I take the roses, a little too flattered to think sanely. "Like if it was lingerie or something?"

Xemnas' eyebrows shoot up. "Er…no. Actually, my idea was a photo album for you to stick your new memories in, but I thought you might find it patronising or awkward. Still, lingerie works just as well."

"Mm. Apparently I don't need your help to make things awkward." We exchange coy smiles and then I thank him for the flowers with a hug. He's warm and broad and god he feels so safe. I pull back. "So um…I found a guitar under our bed. What's that about?"

Xemnas serves up breakfast (which I nervously note as being painfully attractive) and then takes three long strides to the hallway. He shouts, "Boys! Are you up yet?" and resumes talking to me. "The guitar's mine."

"You could have told me you were an aspiring musician. That must be where Demyx gets his taste for music from."

Xemnas laughs, but he doesn't really sound amused at all. "Nah, I'm not 'aspiring'. I'm actually no good at all. In some way, I guess it's why I unconsciously push Demyx in his music. Luckily, he's a natural. You should listen to him on the electric piano upstairs. He's incredible."

"And you? A-and the guitar? Even if you're rubbish at it, that doesn't mean you should stop playing it."

"You haven't heard me play," he replies, and hands me a plate of buttered toast with sliced egg round the edge.

"Thank you. Will I ever hear you play?" I follow him into the dining room to set up the table.

He looks up from tying Xion's bib and wears an expression that might just be shy of reluctance. "…You said it got on your nerves."

"Wh-what? I said that?" He sits at the head of the table, but I don't join him. My blood feels like cold water and I stand rigid. "I told you your guitar playing got on my nerves, and you gave up?"

"Pretty much." Xemnas shrugs. "Don't worry, it annoyed me too."

"Then why is it under your bed?" I argue. "If you didn't want to play it any more, you'd have sold it."

"I never got round to selling it."

"Are you sure it's not because you secretly want to pick it up again? I think you should, no matter how rubbish you are at it."

"Hey." Xemnas nudges out a chair with his foot. "Come on, love, sit down. Some dusty old guitar isn't worth fretting over." He bends over Xion's highchair. "Mm, Daddy wants a big kiss for breakfast." They push their noses together and Xemnas proceeds to blow a raspberry against her cheek, and it almost frightens me how in tandem they are. When Xemnas notices I haven't moved an inch, he sinks back in his chair and adopts a firmer voice. "Saïx. Seriously, it's just a guitar."

But it isn't, I feel like telling him. It's an object full of implications of who I really am.

**~o~**

I nearly cry as the morning progresses, courtesy to Demyx and Roxas. They are too sweet in spoiling me rotten with handmade gifts and drawings and cards full of spelling mistakes. They are blissfully unaware of my memory loss but they still regard me as their mother. During quiet moments of the day, I try to decide if this doubles or lessens the pressure on me.

At eleven o'clock, the phone suddenly rings.

"Hey honey, happy birthday," says Larxene, before I even have the chance to say hello. "How does it feel to be thirty-one?"

"Um…like thirty," I reply honestly.

"Listen, what are you doing to celebrate tonight?"

"We're having a family night in. Demyx insisted."

"Perfect. I was just about to tell you that if you've got a night out planned, I won't be able to come along. I don't want to steal the limelight from your special day or anything, but right now, I'm walking down Strass Avenue with a white gold brilliant diamond cluster ring on my left hand."

"Congratulations!" I exclaim. "Though did he propose just now? Shouldn't he be at work?"

"Yep. He conspired with the school receptionist. She called me to say he'd been injured during class and that I had to collect him from the gym hall. So there I went, worried sick about him, and you know what he did? He got his gym class lined up to spell _Will You Marry Me _on these tacky bits of card, and then they read out the words in this sickening chorus like they're doing prayers in assembly."

I laugh, biting my lip as I picture the scene. "It sounds right down your alley."

"Yeah I know. Your eldest was there too, actually. Anyway, it's impeccable timing on Axel's part because he caught me just before I leave for work, so now I'm in a _fantastic_ mood and that means I'm going to be unconsciously nice and happy towards the people I hate, and it's terribly screwed up and I'm rambling. We're going to throw an engagement party later in the summer and in summary, we want to see you there. Axel's doing up our garden so that it can serve as a venue."

"Sounds like a great idea," I enthuse. "I can help you out. What kind of theme are you—"

"Excellent," cuts in Larxene. "We'll get together this week and brainstorm. Anyway, I have to go – I have a workshop in fifteen minutes and I'm still eating lunch. God you have no idea how difficult it is to eat a sandwich while walking and admiring your engagement ring at the same time. Bye bye."

She hangs up. I listen to the single note of a line gone dead, like a heart monitor flatlining. As I put the phone back in its bracket, I absently wonder if I too, would have the sound of a flatline, when I stand here in the hallway in the hurtful realisation that I can't remember being proposed to. Or dreamily fawning over my engagement ring. Or perusing bridal magazines, trying on dresses, deciding the number of guests, walking down the aisle.

I don't have any knowledge.

Everyone has years of experience and development behind them, even my children. They have the corners they hit on the learning curve, the momentary stalls, the great start ups.

It's not just my memory that has been taken. My maturity as a person has been snatched. When I stand in that hallway, cradling Xion against me and listening to our breaths as one, I feel a shudder of unbearable loneliness that can't be resolved or forgotten, despite being surrounded by people who love me. I'm like an overcooked muffin trying to fit back into the mould I came from.

This lingering sense of being the jutted piece of the jigsaw, is probably the reason I trigger the events that follow that same afternoon.

**~o~**

The birthday pleasantries don't seem to stop. I receive cards in the mail from Yuffie, Luxord and Zack; and when I check my phone, Axel, Larxene and Tifa have sent me texts. I get a phone call from Sephiroth, who somehow even manages to turn 'happy birthday' into a sly accusation, and just before lunch, the doorbell rings and I get delivery of flowers and champagne from a guy named Lex.

Despite all this, I wind up feeling lonelier, so lonely that I attempt to combat it by filling the house with the warm smell of melting chocolate as I follow my recipe book and bake biscuits. I also make homemade lemonade so that I can listen to Xion scream with excitement as the juicer goes off. And, as if she can't get any cuter, when I put on her toy sunglasses, she falls into an uncontrollable peal of laughter and runs around as fast as her little legs can take her.

I opt to sit outside in the sun with her, stretching out on a picnic mat and watching the clouds roll by. We drink lemonade and draw shapes and play peek-a-boo. It's when, at one second of the long hours of wishing the day away, while rearranging Xion's sun hat to sit more firmly on her head, I catch the faint sound of rustling. At first, I cast it off as the wind rushing through the trees, but when it rings a second time, like the fierce echo of something being uprooted – and so close to home at that – I decide to track it.

Axel and Larxene are both out. So why is there rustling coming from their garden?

I check to make sure Xion doesn't have anything potentially life-threatening around her, before I get up from our makeshift picnic mat (a spare bit of carpet) and approach the fence. The wooden panels connect to a half wall that slopes down with the relief of our gardens. As such, I can see into next door while being partially hidden by the fence. I see nothing suspicious, so I edge along to get a full view.

Without any warning, someone straightens up from a crouched position, not even two feet away from me. I jump and leap back, and when I smash into the patio table behind me, the noise gives me away and Xion bursts out laughing.

"Sorry," I cry. "I heard something and was worried there might be a thief—but, um…you're a gardener," I finish awkwardly.

"Yeah, I'm just doing up this backyard. I'm doing Axel a favour because usually, I wouldn't bother with a yard like this." He gestures behind him at the tip of a garden dedicated to Axel's many unfinished projects; instead of following in his arm's direction, though, I study him. He's quite burly for a gardener, boasting broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin and an unruly mane of dull pink hair. His eyes, while bright blue in colour, never quite seem to catch the light. He appears to be constantly calculating and constantly seeing invisible problems in the air, such that when he looks and smiles at me, I feel my secrets falling out of my grasp, like sand slipping through my fingers.

"Oh," he adds, and he delves into the back pocket of his dungarees. "If you ever want me to do yours."

He hands me a business card, and after I take it, his hand stays outstretched. "Marly," he introduces himself. I take it, and Xion starts to wander on her shaky legs, nattering to herself.

"Saïx," I reply, and Marly extends his smile, pulling out a clump of weeds and putting them into a bin bag full of them.

"You're not…you're not _the_ Saïx, are you?"

"I don't know any other Saïx," I reply. "Not in this universe anyway."

"It was a few months ago, wasn't it? When you went missing and were then found in a fugue state? Axel was really upset about it."

I nod. "The 11th marks me being back for a whole month."

"Still adjusting?" says Marly. "How are you faring?"

"All right, I guess. It's um…it's actually my birthday today."

"Happy birthday," he replies. "This will be the first birthday you'll remember then?"

I nod and lift Xion into my arms before she wanders from view. There's nothing too friendly about having a half wall sitting in on a conversation. A part of me is glad for it, though. For one thing, Marly is the most unconvincing gardener I've ever seen and secondly (and bearing more concern) were there no wall, I probably would have wandered right over to chat. My craving for company is becoming unbearable.

"So…" I start, a little nervous. "Do I know you?"

He blinks. "I just handed you my card," he says slowly. "Freelance gardener. Marly, remember?"

"No, I mean, have I met you at all?" I fidget with Xion's sundress. "It's just that after my fugue, people have to go through the hassle of reintroducing themselves to me."

Marly lightly puts a fist into his open palm. "Oh right! I thought you had _really_ short term memory for a minute—"

"Oh no, no—"

"—but to clarify: yes. This is the first time in our lives we've ever met." He grins, apparently finding something momentous about the occasion. "More to the point, though, I imagine you find the process of re-acquaintance to be rather distressing – with people one step ahead of you, searching and testing you as you try not to disappoint."

"It's not exactly distressing," I argue, but it's just a feeble attempt to cut into his truthful words.

"You don't have to worry about disappointing me," Marly finishes. "I never knew the old you."

"Oh…" The pressure lifts off me – more swiftly, more inexplicably than I have ever felt around anyone else.

"So who's she?"

"This is my daughter, Xion." I take her tiny arm to get her to wave, and when she giggles and buries her head in the crook of my neck, Marly snorts appreciatively and remarks, "She looks just like you."

"R-really?"

"Sure," answers Marly. "Same reserved smile." I can't fathom how his compliment can slide so smoothly out of his curved mouth and render any other praise I have received to be quite incomparable. He leans his forearms on the wall, peering into our garden. Again, I can't help but feel he is calculating something, his gaze touching on the picnic set, patio, numerous planters at the kitchen window and the empty flowerbed behind me. Finally, his gaze rests on me.

"It's a nice day today. You ought to go out. No point in being cooped up here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I reply. "Just because I'm a housewife, it doesn't mean I'm cooped up."

But then I backtrack and think, _am_ I? Is that the impression I give off? Instead of a mother only too happy to be at home, do I seem a lonely woman screaming in silence for someone to unlock the door?

"I didn't reach that conclusion because you're a housewife," interjects Marly. "I was convinced by your expression, actually. You look like someone who doesn't have the right to be lonely – but still, inexplicably, is. That's why I say you should be out there, meeting people and going forwards. With a pretty face like that, you should be flaunting it."

My heart pounds and races, and Xion can surely feel the unnatural rhythm of it against her cheek. "I…I…um…"

Marly laughs, and it's a light sound that settles into the dusty rays of the afternoon sun. "What's the matter? Surely you can't be that unused to compliments?"

"I don't know," I stutter. "For starters, I've got this horrible X mark…" I make a nervous gesture to the scar on my face.

"Nah, that's nothing," Marly says dismissively. "It's just a cross. If it were anything else, like a percentage sign or an ampersand, then you'd really be in trouble."

I realise I have never really heard my own laugh. So when it escapes from my lips in a breathy, nervous giggle, no one is more surprised than me.

"There you go, you need to loosen up. Escape the strain of conformity," encourages Marly.

"You are starting to sound like my psychiatrist."

"Ah, but your psychiatrist talks to you by appointment," Marly says flatly, once again jabbing a pin into the painful cushion of truth. "Same with everyone else. They're associated with you because that's how it used to be. Classic case of clinging to the past. It's masked and feigned and that's why you feel lonely. They don't care for the new you; they want the old one back."

"I can't blame them. The new me is bland and awkward and not what anyone wants."

Marly's features – for the first time – soften, and he pushes a hand through his messy hair. "Do you know what you need?" he asks, not really waiting for an answer. He shuffles back from the half wall to rummage through his collection of tools and belongings and from it, he passes a crumpled paper bag. "Here you go."

I peer inside, seeing five or six hairy spheres that look vaguely like distorted onions. "Um…You really shouldn't have?" I try.

"They're chrysanthemum bulbs," Marly explains thrfough a laugh, his voice layered with the same undying patience that Xemnas always has. "You can plant them at that flowerbed there. It's looking a bit grim. They're usually best planted in spring, but these'll flourish by the end of August. Trust me, they'll look great. Do you have compost?"

"I've never searched, to be honest." Marly shrugs, and he rips open a large bag of soil. Without realising what I am doing until my cheeks flush, I note his strong arms and the sweat trickling down the side of his face. His front is stained with earthy handprints, and smeared on his knees are brown smudges. From here, I can smell the rich and homey aroma of health.

"What?" he says, as he gives me a small sack of soil. A few dark crumbs spill out from the brim and dot along the wall, reminiscent of marching ants. "Did you think that all gardeners are elderly women with pruning shears, flowery gloves and a sunhat?"

"…Something like that," I admit with a shy smile.

"You know, even if the hobby is somewhat prematurely aging, it has health benefits to it too. For example," he says, as Xion dips a hand into the damp compost and squeals at the texture, "when exposed to soil and soil bacteria, your brain is triggered into releasing serotonin, which is a natural antidepressant and an extra boost to your immune system. Gardening also triggers the release of dopamine, which is a flush of euphoria and bliss, usually caused by harvesting and reaping our rewards."

He wouldn't make a good teacher, I decide. His voice has a tendency to sound carried away, as though he is saying one thing but thinking about something completely unrelated. Even so, something warm pools at the bottom of my stomach, for the handing over of bulbs and soil isn't just a suggestion that I am in need of cheering up; it is instead a mark of a new beginning, a test for the new me. I am starting from scratch with Marly – and he doesn't mind or wish otherwise.

"You want to dig holes, about six to eight inches in depth," instructs Marly. "Space the bulbs generously, and use the compost to cover them afterwards. Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty."

He lends me a trowel and my initial reaction of embarrassment at the sudden limelight peters out to nonexistence, as elusive as my reasons for it. I start digging, not quite as eager as Xion to burrow into the moist earth, but I soon find some interest. In fact, this very first sensation of cultivating by my own hands, is the surest I have felt in my certainty that I have a degree of control. As I bury the chrysanthemum bulbs one by one, the surety squeezes into my mindset somehow – that I'm in _this_ garden, with _this_ family, in _this_ universe. I have 'starter pieces', for want of a better word, but ultimately, I am an individual.

Marly gives a round of applause when I finish planting the bulbs. (Xion mimics him for the next few minutes.) "You're a natural," he compliments. "With enough light and water, your garden will flourish into something beautiful. The way I see it, you might as well liven up the place you spend so much time at."

I purse my lips. Marly shrugs and smiles, and apparently, he isn't aiming to insult me at all. "It's a surprisingly perfect setup, isn't it?" he asks. "We can keep one another company."

The smile comes too quickly. I bite down at his flattery, at the premise of a friend with no strings of obligation attached. "So um…you must be worn out from clearing up Axel's yard," I say, eyeing the fading beads of sweat on his forehead. "Can I get you a drink?"

He blinks, as though I have spoken another language, before a smile cuts across his face and he lifts an eyebrow. "Homemade lemonade would be fantastic."

**~o~**

"Mama," says Demyx after a minute, blinking a few times to make certain he's not seeing things. "Papa's got his guitar out."

"Mm-hm, I asked him to," I reply, so absently that his next remark hits me like an anvil.

"But you always say it's his nasty habit!"

I whip round, embarrassed. I crick my neck and still, the stabbing pain doesn't quite match the sting of realisation. "I said that?" I stammer, and then go on to correct myself. "I mean…I _always_ say that?" I swallow, regain my composure and plaster a smile onto my face. "Well, Demyx, sometimes Mama makes mistakes."

It turns out that Xemnas is painfully modest. He's not brilliant at the guitar, but he's not exactly cacophonous either. When he plays, he adopts the same habits as when he tackles a jigsaw puzzle. His fingers are tentative and his eyebrows knit together in concentration. He gets distracted quickly and winds up passing the guitar to Roxas so that he can fuss over Xion.

When I hover at the doorway, feeling left out and greatly unworthy of my default family, I start to resent who I am and who I can't be – feelings that were previously suppressed when I was looking at Marly.

**~o~**

_Dear Saïx_

_Our household has a membership subscription to the local library. Judging by its history, we mainly use it for Demyx and Roxas, but I took out some reference books about the moon. It makes me feel a little sad and humiliated – like being on the receiving end of a practical joke – to read that the moon is commonly associated with womanhood and fertility._

_Books speak of terror and myths teach us to fear her, yet every time I see the waxing moon, I'm reminded of you and I feel better. I want to tell you that there isn't company quite like yours in my lonely world._

_I have been – foolishly or otherwise – led to believe that I am the good wife. My family adores me, yet I can't share their sentiments. Some truths about me are slipping through cracks of the canvas my family have put up to protect me._

_I don't think I'm a very nice person; and I am utterly terrified of myself._

_Saïx Butler_

**~x~**

For anyone else, such prolonged strain would drive them insane; but for Saïx, waiting out the days for Xemnas to take notice of him, is just another weight on the madman's back. Two weeks pass after Luxord is recruited and instated, and Saïx doesn't even come close to talking to Xemnas. The Superior makes himself conveniently scarce – there is a lofty rumour of him going to Hollow Bastion – and despite their Organisation only increasing by one, Saïx suddenly discovers an increase in workload.

He's kept on his toes, updating records and scanning Heartless and trying to drag his assigned partner Demyx to missions. He wonders why Xemnas has been avoiding him (surely the proof of being wrong isn't so painful for a being that cannot feel) and more than once, considers camping outside his Superior's office like a nosy bodyguard.

Then, one day, as Saïx returns to the Castle after scanning at least a thousand Heartless, Xigbar saunters over, shrugging as he does so.

"He's asking for you," he relays, making a sweeping gesture down the corridor. "I don't know what's kept him baffled for two weeks, but you're part of the problem. Good luck!"

Of course Xigbar doesn't know – this other universe is to be spoken lightly of and revealed to select individuals only. Saïx pushes open the oak door to Xemnas' office, still panting from the energy lost on mission. His gaze zeroes in on a crinkled piece of paper – the same one Saïx wrote on a fortnight ago predicting Luxord's name.

"Sit," says Xemnas, although he doesn't bother looking up to confirm it is him. Saïx slumps into his seat, and since there isn't much to do in an office that isn't his, Saïx resorts to studying the man opposite him. He notes the silvery hair that falls in waves that he hasn't come close to touching, but knows they feel silky and cold. He scrutinises Xemnas' expressionless face, forehead devoid of creases and the corners of his mouth slightly dipped. Saïx has never seen Xemnas smile before, but he knows it's a move that softens all of his features, gives him colour and widens his eyes a millimetre.

"I am listening," says Xemnas, and though he's still writing and making a point of his indifference, Saïx knows it's the best he's going to get.

"I met Luxord in the alternate universe. That's how I knew his name. He's your friend and work colleague." Saïx pauses for a minute, weighing the cost of his next question. "…You do believe me, don't you, Sir? I gave you proof."

"My standpoint on your claim is hardly what matters." Xemnas clicks his pen and tosses it to one side, in a fashion not unlike his typical disregard for all objects. "What _is_ important, however, is the benefits you pose to the Organisation with such a connection. I cannot commit and assist you if there is no merit in doing so."

"You can study the heart," Saïx argues. "It's a universe where we actually exist—"

"—on your word," finishes Xemnas. They finally make eye contact and it's remarkable that Saïx is able to hold back on his pent up frustration. A Nobody is an empty shell of a person, but a person nonetheless; people are not geared to endure having their desire a hair's breadth away.

"I have no reason to lie, Sir. I'm not like the others. I don't devise ridiculous hobbies to curb destructive boredom. It's really happening, and you should take advantage of it. I have already devised an approach." He leans forward in his seat – as though that will make any change to Xemnas' attention – and takes the pen. "She writes to me. We communicate with one another through diary entries, similar to the Organisation's method. I can memorise everything she writes, as I remember her doing it. I have drawn blueprints of her house, room, the town she lives in; I've written her interactions with the people she meets."

Xemnas' lips twist a little, reminiscent of a wry smirk. "You appear to do quite well on your own, yet you're desperate to include me. Why?"

"Because it deserves to be talked about. It's a window that shows our potential, what we are truly capable of once we have hearts. And…" –he is almost surprised by his hesitance, or is that concern?– "…something doesn't add up. I think she may have unwittingly put herself in danger."

**~x~**

_Saïx Butler_

_Our universes are not in time. The days pass quicker in my world, so while it has barely been a month for you, I'm convinced I have known you forever. I will not go as far to say that I have developed an attachment to your life, the same way you feel assurance from me; however, you give me reason to carry on._

_Your world intrigues me; and you, as an individual, reflect everything I could possibly be. For this, I hold you in as much high regard a Nobody can muster. Still, you are frightened of yourself and who you might have been – but I think you should consider yourself lucky. An opportunity to start over and atone for your mistakes and the things you said and did, the chance to change yourself before you make it worse – these are gifts wrapped in heartache that I would do anything to have._

_You have proven you can communicate with me perfectly. Now it's time to extend that ability to those around you._

_Saïx_

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_**A/N:** Many thanks for reading! Please leave feedback to let me know how I'm doing. Otherwise, see you next time :)_


	7. Dangerous Obsession

_**A/N: **Eeek I'm so sorry, this took forever to dish out. I've hit a bit of a wall with all my fics atm, so the quality of this chapter isn't brilliant - please enjoy anyway, and many thanks to the lovely people who reviewed my last chapter!_

_**Disclaimer: **Characters and settings are copyright to Square Enix._

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**The Dichotomy Between Me and Me**

**Chapter 6: Dangerous Obsession**

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July 11th falls on a Friday night, and absolutely nothing happens. While washing up, we both spot the full moon, framed by two mini sunflowers Demyx and Roxas are growing on our windowsill, and we unconsciously act as if it is an asteroid heading straight for us.

"Huh," says Xemnas, wandering back into the kitchen. He continues drying up. "Demyx hasn't brought his lunchbox home. I've just checked his bag."

"Maybe he left it at school," I suggest.

I don't fall asleep for a couple of hours. Instead, I let my imagination run wild in bed as I wonder what this full moon has planned for me. My thoughts range from having a memory wipe at the stroke of midnight, to being dragged out of the house by an invisible force.

But nothing does happen.

At half past one, I hear Xemnas come into the bedroom, just to check I'm still here; and when he does it again at quarter past three, I sit up in bed.

"Sorry," he murmurs straightaway, his hand on the door handle, ready to turn and leave. "I just wanted to—" His silhouette is stark and obvious in the moonlight that spills through the window, and I catch the faint movement of him edging back out the room. "I didn't mean to wake you," he says.

He waits for me to lie down in bed before leaving; I wait for him to leave before calling. "…Stay here?"

Xemnas shuts the door gratefully and pulls off his t-shirt. "Sorry," he says again. "I can't sleep at all." He slides into the cold sheets behind – but not quite touching – me. "I keep thinking that as soon as I nod off, you're going to leave."

"I'm still here," I whisper back. "It's quarter past three and I'm still here."

"Maybe Vexen was right. Maybe the moon's just a coincidence," he murmurs.

"…Maybe." We're too uncertain and tired to think. He just loops his arm around my waist, fingers resting on my stomach, where my womb would have been, in a vain attempt to keep me here with him.

The alarm blares out at seven o'clock, and I wake up with a faint feeling of triumph – over the moon or over the complexities of my mind, I'm not entirely sure. Xemnas has moved closer over the night, with his forehead flush against the back of my neck and his left hand loosely cupping my breast. When he sits up in bed to switch off the alarm, my half-lidded eyes rest on a blue blur on his shoulder blade.

"Hey," I murmur sleepily. I trace the outline of four swallows flying in the smooth tan sky. Absently, I wonder where they're heading. "You have a tattoo."

He pushes his hair out his eyes, turning his head a little. He doesn't say anything, but a weight lifts off him as he realises it's the day after a full moon, and I'm still here. Slowly, as though he is subtly suggesting that I can slide away if I want, he rests on his side and kisses me, gentle and then fierce, silent and then with grateful murmurs. I run my fingers up his spine, guessing where the swallows are on the sharp bone of his shoulder blade.

"…Do you remember when we went to Pelagos," I murmur, "and after we got home, I promised I'd talk to you after the next full moon?"

"I do remember." Gingerly, he strokes back my hair. "Do you want to talk?"

I nod. "I haven't been honest with you. And I think it's time I give a statement – to you, and to Sephiroth."

**~o~**

"You know what? You needn't worry about a _thing_. I've been babysitting your brood for years on end, and no one can show 'em a more awesome time than I can. You can put your mind at ease, Mrs Butler, 'cause you just put your kids in the safest pair of hands. I've brought a packet of pasta – I'm going make a mean orechiette with broccoli. Want me to save you some? Oh and if you are having any doubts, I won't say a word to the kids about you having lost your memory, I'll remain tight lipped! No amount of torture or bribery will ever convince me to divulge your secret. I'm one of the most trustworthy people you'll ever meet, Mr Butler, you can vouch for me, can't you?"

I do wonder how Xemnas can hold a conversation with our babysitter Yuffie, without wanting to jam his hands over his ears. "Thanks for coming at such short notice," he says, handing her a note in advance. "We won't be gone long."

"Not a problem, Mr Butler. Like I said, you can put your mind at ease when I'm—"

"Y-yeah, I heard that bit," he cuts in quickly, "and we appreciate it."

We go outside to say goodbye to the kids, and I say to Xemnas in an undertone, "She seems really nice."

"Yeah, she's been our sitter for the last two years. She's definitely good at engaging them. Funny thing is, she borrows a lot of stuff from our house – like movies and pens – and sometimes, it doesn't all quite make it back. So she's an expensive babysitter."

Xion has her toy tea party set out in the garden, and her brothers are humouring her by balancing cups on their noses. I kiss them in turn, and then I straighten to see Marly next door, uprooting a plant mercilessly.

"You work Saturdays?" I greet him. He's knee deep in upturned soil and his dungarees are stained all over.

"I didn't until I met Larxene," he replies. He dusts his hands down his front. "Scary, scary lady." He nods to Xemnas, who's suddenly come up behind me. "I don't think we've been introduced."

"Oh…um, right. Marly, this is my husband Xemnas. Xemnas, Marly's a gardener and a friend…you know, that I remember making," I finish. I just contribute to the tension as they shake hands.

"Pleasure," says Xemnas. He sounds pleased, but his face muscles barely move. In fact, he appears to be on edge, hairs practically standing on end like a threatened dog. Marly stares for an awkward amount of time, looking like he's about to burst out laughing.

"So…Saïx tells me you work in ah…retail," Marly says. There's a split second sneer on his face, but neither Xemnas nor I miss it.

"That's right. It's not a stellar career I admit, but my accomplishments are measured elsewhere. I don't want to be rude – having only just been introduced – but we were actually on our way out."

"No problem," says Marly. "Nice to have met you."

**~o~**

We walk to the busy centre of town to visit Sephiroth. Xemnas doesn't say a word to me, not even with small talk, so I ask, "Are you angry with me?"

"I'm never angry with you," he replies. He tries to sound offhand and bright, but I discover he's not particularly good at disguising his emotions.

"…Marly was a bit impolite. I'm sorry about that."

"It's nothing you should apologise for don't worry about it."

"…Don't you have a bigger ambition than being a salesman? I'm not scoffing at you or anything," I add quickly, "I'm just curious. I want to know more about you. I mean…you're an intelligent, calculating guy. You could do so much better. You could be the CEO of a company, or the leader of…some shady organisation."

He laughs. "Where do you get these ideas from?" He makes a move to perhaps feel for my waist, but he changes his mind at the last minute.

"Do you want to hold my hand?" I ask randomly. "Are we the type of couple who like to hold hands? I'm not really sure."

"We don't usually. But if you feel like it…well, I won't protest." He gives me an elusive look, but to my utter dismay, my hand remains locked at my side. By some unimaginable willpower, he appears unaffected. We carry on walking, further apart than ever, and it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Oh," he says, after five minutes of torturous silence. "I didn't answer your question. My father was in the army."

"Oh," I repeat awkwardly.

"As respectable as his job was, we didn't really know him. We knew we had a father – and he knew he had three sons – but the affection was never natural, just obligatory. I'm a salesman because I want to be a part of our children's lives. I want them to see their father in the doorway when he comes home, not a complete stranger."

My breaths hitch in my throat as a lump of appreciation grows within me. "…I do think you're incredible with the kids," I admit.

"Anyway. Sephiroth." Xemnas gets back on track. "Are you sure you want to talk to him? I mean, Seph's a bit…intense at his job, a bit hard hitting."

"It's all right."

"Sure?"

"I'm sure. You both deserve the truth."

"Well, you're a braver person than me. Let me know if he's too much for you – I'll tell him to back off."

The door is already open when we arrive at Sephiroth's flat. We wander into a futuristic themed lounge, which doubles as his dining room. Sephiroth has already cracked open a bottle of sparkling water and on the coffee table, there waits a policeman's notebook and a recording device.

"Hey. Thanks for having us," greets Xemnas, when Sephiroth wanders out of his bedroom, dressed in a suit.

"I have to head back to the station straight after your statement," he explains, when he catches me staring at his formalwear. "Take a seat."

I have little to no time to admire the modern, minimalistic surroundings of black and white, but from what I do see, Sephiroth's remarkable taste is evident. The washed-out walls boast bright canvas art and shelves with asymmetrical dividers. The furniture vertices are all curved and the charcoal surface of the coffee table reflects the warm spotlights dotted across the ceiling. I feel wrapped up in the neutral colours that dominate the room, to the point that when I sink into a leather sofa in a mesh frame, I attain a sense of complete conviction.

Sephiroth remains standing, surveying us over the rim of his glass. "First of all, well done. Any information you give will assist in bringing your perpetrator to justice. Your statement will be treated as confidential and of course, without fear of repercussions. The police's primary duty is to protect you. However—" he finally sits down, picking the armchair diagonally opposite me "—while I am first and foremost a detective, I'm also your brother-in-law. I work hard to not let this cloud my vision, but I cannot help feeling hopeful that the reason why you have brought Xemnas along, is to let him off the hook. My hook, to be precise."

"Yes, that's right." I squeeze Xemnas' hand. "I went missing for a month, but he had nothing to do with it."

"But there was a third party involved?" Sephiroth questions. He flicks on the recording device and begins to scribble in his notebook.

"Yes, there was a third party."

"Can you tell me what he or she looked like?"

"Like me."

In retrospect, I will find Sephiroth and Xemnas' expressions to be quite humorous. Their look of confusion, melded with what could be disdain, is so exact they look like brothers more than ever.

"…Like you," Sephiroth repeats flatly. His nose wrinkles in displeasure. "You are saying someone impersonated you and proceeded to kidnap you? Why?"

I shake my head. "No, no one impersonated me. The third party is _me_. I did it all. From the cross on my face to making myself disappear for a month."

"A personality split," Sephiroth tries next. "I'm sorry, Saïx. Your doctor had you tested for any mental disorder and you proved very sane. Unless you want to go back and—"

"It's not a split either."

"Then what is it?"

Xemnas shuffles forward in his seat. He takes my hands and ducks his head a little, which is a stance I have seen him adopt when he informed Roxas he was too young for a skateboard. "Honey, you're not making sense. If you really can't remember what happened, you don't have to pretend or try and please us. You're allowed to forget."

I swallow. For some reason – despite being wrapped in Xemnas' arms and coaxing words – I can only really hear and feel the cool air of that other universe. "You said I could tell you anything."

"Of course, anything you like," reaffirms Xemnas.

"Then the truth is this: I don't remember anything about my disappearance. I don't know why I packed my bag or where I went or how I got there. Everything up until the point I realised I was in a psychiatric ward is blank."

Sephiroth pulls a faint grimace of disappointment. "That's very unfortunate, Saïx."

"But I'm recalling things. Things that happened, but not to _me. _It was frightening at first and I've kept it secret, but he…he encouraged that I communicate with people _this_ side of the universe."

"As opposed to what side?"

"His side."

"Can you specify who 'he' is?"

"It's me." I have the sudden urge to fidget, to have somewhere to look, so I pull Xemnas' arm to my lap and grab his sleeve. "There's another me. He's me, but in another universe."

It takes a minute or so for the words to sink in. The only sound is the faint hum of the recording device, and then Sephiroth rests his elbows on his knees. "…Oh, Saïx," he sighs. "God how do I explain this…When…when people are traumatised, they create defence mechanisms. Things to protect them, things to ease the pain of the past. Sometimes, creating an imaginary life makes the real world a bit more welcoming. Do you think that what we're seeing in you is a case like this?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's real. I…I talk to him." I cringe a moment too late. "Listen, I know I sound mad, but _that_ Saïx has kept me sane and positive, if anything. I came into this world _so _lonely and scared. He makes me feel better about myself; he understands me, and I can talk to him without fear of being rejected. We have a connection."

Sephiroth's eyebrows furrow together. Most of Xemnas' face is hidden from view by his hair, but I'm quite certain he's despairing.

"…Tell me about this connection," Sephiroth says, quick in collecting himself.

"It started perhaps a day or two after I regained my identity in hospital. I started remembering things. Recalling a life that wasn't my own but still, felt like they had been done by my own hands. After a while, these dreams feel like memories. I bear witness to the other Saïx's life, and he witnesses mine."

"Can you tell what he's doing now?"

I shake my head. "No. It hits in small goes. I randomly remember, like a daily episode of a TV programme."

"And this…Other Saïx," Sephiroth tests carefully. "I don't suppose we can meet him, can we?"

I bite my lip. "I'm afraid not."

"So he's an imaginary friend." Sephiroth holds up a long fingered hand to silence my dissent. "But he _feels_ real to you. To cope with the stress of resuming a normal life, you created a friend who listens to and supports you. You created another world to get lost in, because you reject this one." He scratches the back of his head in thought. "That would be the logical explanation, but you seem insulted by it."

Xemnas gives me an inscrutable look, but his grip on my hand tightens. "How about we suspend our disbelief for a bit?"

"Sure," Sephiroth murmurs. "I apologise, Saïx."

"I know it's unbelievable. Other Saïx too had trouble convincing Other Xemnas—"

"Other Xemnas?" Xemnas cuts in. "I'm there?"

I nod. "Other Xemnas is Other Saïx's boss."

"What a peculiar arrangement," remarks Sephiroth, "given that the Xemnas here is unusually uxorious. What about Other Seph?"

"…Sorry, Other Saïx doesn't know him." I wriggle forwards on my seat, fighting the strong hold of squishy cushions. "Look, Detective, you don't have to believe me, but I thought I'd let you know so that you don't waste time searching for a perpetrator. There isn't one. The moons in both universes must have aligned or something and it made me disappear."

"What does the moon have to do with it?" Sephiroth blinks and studies his file on me. "You disappeared, came back and recovered – all on full moons, but nothing marks it as more than a coincidence."

"The moon matters because that's Other Saïx's element," I explain. "He um…harnesses his power from the moon. We both think that the two moons must have fallen in time and forged a link between universes. Other Saïx is still getting used to his element. That's why it's only hit now."

"And this full moon just gone? What happened then?"

I exchange glances with Xemnas. "…Nothing," I admit. "But still, we're only just starting to discover more about one another. Soon, it'll be an incredible plus—"

"You think it's a plus?" comments Sephiroth. "Imagine if it _is_ real, Saïx. Heck, imagine if it isn't. Either way, it's going to become a dangerous obsession. Are you really ready to abandon _this _life, all for a world you're not part of? People have enough on their plates with one life. How are you going to cope with two?"

I clench and unclench my hands. The absurdity of my situation is only emphasised when Sephiroth keeps struggling to make notes. "…It's not like I had a choice, Detective," I reply finally. "It just happened. The moon made us meet, and on one specific night, I was beamed up to his world, like an alien abduction."

A long pause follows. Most of the time, we just sit still and concentrate on the glasses of sparkling water. Xemnas breaks the silence a few minutes later. "Does it hurt?"

It's such an outlandish question, one that bounces right off the court of awkward conversation between Sephiroth and me. "I mean, you have someone else's universe and life squashed into your mind without your consent. Regardless of if it's real or not…I was just wondering if it hurts."

Going by the long silence that follows, it's clear that Sephiroth and I never considered such a point. "…It doesn't hurt," I answer. "Actually, it's quite comforting, having him around. And Demyx is there, Xemnas." My voice wobbles with enthrallment and giddiness. "I've seen what he looks like when he's grown up – he's beautiful, so beautiful. A-and Luxord is there too. In the Organisation there's currently ten members – people I've met _there_ but not necessarily _here_ in this universe."

Sephiroth clicks his pen on and off in thought. When he opts to take a long sip of his drink, I realise then that I am asking for too much. "Do you know what my problem is, Saïx? What keeps me back from believing you?"

"There's no proof?" I suggest. Sephiroth gives a weary smile but somehow, he retains his youthful look.

"My problem is that I _want_ to believe you. I _want_ it all to be true. If the idea of a parallel universe wasn't so laughable, it'd make complete sense. It'd be great to blame your disappearance and your memory loss to the moon and say you're allergic to a hulking bit of rock in space. No suspect, no trial, no physical danger or threat to you yet." Sephiroth sighs, raking his hair. "But if we do take your word, believe this set of events…where does that leave us? How are we supposed to protect you from something we can't reach?"

I catch Xemnas nodding a little out the corner of my eye. "The prospect of a parallel universe is daunting, but not nearly as much as us having to acknowledge we're powerless to help you."

I squirm, too flattered to be comfortable. "…I do have a question, Detective," I say. "You…you said 'yet'. No physical danger or threat to me _yet_. Do you mean the doctors might try and take me away?"

A dark look crosses Sephiroth's face. "Saïx, have you told anyone else about your ability?"

He's so stern that I stammer, "No Sir…"

"Good. Keep it that way." He reaches forward to retrieve his recording device. "I'm going to delete this, so that there's no record of what you can do."

"Is it because it's all insane talk?"

"It's because if what you're saying is true, then that gives you immeasurable value," Sephiroth cuts in sharply. "You disappeared for a whole month. You were in another universe. God knows how you did it and if you still can, but talking of this ability will undoubtedly attract the wrong people. Promise me you won't say anything to anyone – not even to your kids or your gossip girlfriend Larxene."

"I promise."

**~o~**

On the way back home, while crossing Lost Saint's Bridge, Xemnas clears his throat. "I love you," he says abruptly. I flush, swallowing with embarrassment. "And I believe you," he adds. "I…well, I want you to know those two things." He catches me biting my lip. "I wasn't trying to put you on the spot or anything. I just want you to know. You were really brave, and I admire you for speaking the truth."

"…Thank you," I mumble, and the rest of the walk is silent.

"Welcome back, guys!" says Yuffie, as soon as Xemnas unlocks the front door. "We're in the kitchen. Oh my god guys, I _know_ it looks a mess but I promise I had every intention of getting it all spick and span."

Xemnas and I snort at the sight of our kids caked in icing decorations. It's pretty difficult to kiss them without transferring the mess. They appear to be halfway through designing their own gingerbread men. Demyx has crumbs and multi-coloured sugared confectionary all down his front, while Roxas is eating cake decorations straight from the pot, gingerbread man abandoned. Xion screams in protest when Xemnas lifts her off the kitchen counter, and retaliates by shoving a gooey, icing and slobber covered hand into his face.

"Three small children on a sugar high," Xemnas says in an undertone. "This should be fun."

He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet; I tell him I'm going to nip upstairs to the loo. I dart out of the dining room with Demyx in tow. "Are you going to eat the gingerbread man I made?" he asks.

"It'd be a shame to eat it, it's so good," I enthuse. "But I _am _rather hungry. Let me just go to the bathroom; I'll be right down."

I head up the stairs, two at a time. Without warning, I catch my foot on a spongy strap and I stumble and fall over, to the fanfare of crashing metal. "Ouch!"

"You okay?" Xemnas calls from downstairs.

"F-fine," I manage. "Just…ugh, don't leave your schoolbag lying around please, Demyx."

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. I rub my side and start to tidy up. His pencil tin is wide open and as I put the pencils away one by one, I realise they're all blunt and broken. Some are even snapped in half. "I don't suppose your lessons bore you, do they?" I remark.

Demyx sits on the last step and shrugs. "A bit." He nurses my side for me, in a gesture so sweet that the pain is almost worth it. "I'm really sorry, Mama."

"That's okay. I should have watched where I was going." I pick up his exercise books and slot them back into his bag one by one. However, I pause on his homework diary. There are colourful scribbles on the cover, as though Demyx has gone mad trying to get his pens to work.

"Okay, so you must be _really_ bored at school," I joke, ruffling his hair.

He grins and laughs. "They're quite pretty aren't they?"

And then I turn the page, and discover the reason for Demyx's smile is absolutely sickening. "Oh my god," I breathe. It's so faint, because Demyx has tried to rub out the colouring pencil's mark as much as possible, but I can read it all the same.

_Mummy didn't want you._

Every page, where Demyx has done his best to write down his homework, there's a foreign hand besmirching it. _Demyx is stupid. You have no family. Fake. No one wants you. _As the pages turn, the insults become bolder, meaner, and the bully discovers his point is better made when he uses a felt tip.

_You are ugly! You're stupid. You shouldn't have been born._

Carefully, Demyx takes the homework diary from my limp hands. I think back to the occasion when he came home from school with a frayed trouser hem, when he 'fell over'; I wonder about the missing lunchbox.

"My god, Demyx," I murmur, "why didn't you say?"

"You already know, Mama," he replies, blinking in confusion. "It's Kadaj and his brothers. I…I ignore them like you say."

"I tell you to ignore them?" He nods. "And it works?"

"Sometimes," he responds. "You always say, don't you? You _chose _me, and that's why they're jealous."

I cringe at the way he recites the phrase I must have once force-fed him. "That's right. I wanted you more than anything else in the world." I stroke his unkempt fringe, try to hide the furious tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. There's a derisive scoff waiting to be let out, but I bite down hard on my tongue and pretend to be unaffected by the burn of self-hatred.

"I don't mind really," Demyx mutters unconvincingly, "but it's sometimes hard to read what homework I have. And I'm sorry, Mama. They took my lunchbox."

"How long has this been going on for?" I demand, so _so _cross with myself, yet when Demyx struggles to come up with an answer, all that rage just falls apart as scattered shards of disappointment and helplessness.

The taste of guilt wells up within me, at my poor ability in protecting him. From the dark recesses of vindictiveness in me, I take Demyx's shoulders and run my hands up to his cheeks. "Look at me, my baby." I catch my reflection in his eyes, and for the briefest yet longest of moments, it might be Other Saïx staring back. "I'm going to save you."

**~x~**

Her explanation is perfect, word for word, and while _her_ Xemnas believes her, even finds it in himself to love her, _his_ Xemnas finds the advantage and true might of the moon to be quite an insult.

To the common observer, Saïx is the new second-in-command because he's smarter and prettier than the old deputy, Xigbar. But like the tangled thorns nestled in a flourishing rose bush, the harmony between superior and subordinate is just the cover to a tumultuous need to outsmart one another.

Saïx knows how it feels to have a heart. He feels so strongly that he wakes up burning hot in a stone cold room, night after night, convinced he's at her home and in her bed. Oftentimes, he bumps into Demyx in the corridor, and has to catch himself before he compliments him, and twists his tongue so that he barks out orders instead. The moon has lassoed a world of hearts to him, where the intricate emotions and complications of life run riot, where even silence and their idea of nothing has a sound. He's come so close to accomplishing their mission of attaining a heart, and he's done it without the Organisation's help.

Now it's up to Xemnas, he supposes, to determine whether that initiative deserves reward or if that makes them enemies. To the Superior's credit, he now expresses some form of interest at least. Every other evening is reserved for Saïx, prompting rumours and as much disdain as unfeeling Nobodies can afford, but Saïx lets them guess and assume. It is a small price to pay for his Superior's time.

"The heart is incredible," Saïx says one evening. "It runs through so many emotions at so many levels of intensity, it is no wonder why we are so lost without it. The other me has come to same conclusion: the moon has drawn us together. Besides the people within them, our universes have little in common. Even time is different. Our universe progresses at a faster rate than hers. This is a compilation of diary entries. I have written of her life."

Xemnas gives the book a once over, but for most of the time, he is unmoving in his seat. "Does anything bear significance to our cause?"

"Yes Sir. There are at least three other people in that universe with an X to their name. We will surely be an Organisation of thirteen."

"Very good."

Saïx stretches out in his seat, undecided on where to look as Xemnas reads over his notes. He has deliberately omitted the names of Xion, Roxas and Larxene – the people to come – in case Xemnas warrants more proof.

"_Luna Diviner_," Xemnas says after a minute. Saïx blinks.

"What is that?"

"Your title – if you will accept it." Xemnas pushes the diary away. "You report here that Other Xemnas rewarded Other Saïx with love. I cannot offer that, but I can give you a change in name, as full acknowledgement and acceptance of your ability."

"Thank you Sir."

Saïx leaves the Superior with his diary, and portals back into the Grey Area to pick up his mission companion.

"You hate being paired up with me," Demyx greets him. "I would've thought that as the new second-in-command, switching partners would be the first thing you'd do."

Saïx draws up a portal to Wonderland. "You'd like that, wouldn't you. However, it is my intention to make you _work _on your assigned tasks, and if it requires my physical presence, so be it." He conveniently neglects to add that Demyx is the best company to soothe the ache of his soul.

"It's going to be a tough rest of my life." Demyx slouches to the portal, and on reaching Wonderland, he just scowls even more. "Ugh. Why does it always smell like wet paint around here? So…what's our mission? Please let it not be Heartless scanning, I'm begging you, please please pl—"

"We're scanning Heartless," Saïx confirms. Demyx groans. "It's got to be done. Superior's orders." He passes the scanner, but just as Demyx lifts an unenthusiastic hand, Saïx tips it from reach. "I want to ask you something."

Demyx grimaces. "Is it going to be one of those questions where if I get it wrong, I end up doing three times as many missions?"

"No. I don't care what answer you give. I just think it needs to be asked."

"Er…okay then."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Well, not fine enough to stomach another scanning—wait, was that the question?"

"Yes it was." Saïx watches Demyx's face contort with visible discomfort as he tries and fails to make sense of the situation. His wide eyes are quizzical on first glance, but Saïx knows that of all people, Demyx should never be taken at face value.

"Say if you were someone," Saïx elaborates, "and you discovered a person you care about – someone you're responsible for, who's utterly dependent on you – has been suffering in your lack of judgment. How do you think it feels? How would it make you act?"

Demyx scratches the back of his head, tousling his hair. "If I had a heart? Well…I guess I'd be torn between two options: moving heaven and earth to make things right, and denying I ever did anything wrong. Depends on my moral structure, really. I might do all within my power to make sure the suffering is never incurred again. Conversely, I might turn a blind eye, play dumb, ask things like…well, like, _Are you all right?_ just to make myself feel better."

"The heart is truly a centre of conflict and controversy," Saïx remarks. "I wonder which route she will take."

Demyx's weapon materialises in his hands, and Saïx remembers with a sharp jolt which world he's in. "So…" Demyx says, exaggerating nerves by shifting his weight from foot to foot. "What's this got to do with me?"

"It has nothing to do with you." Saïx tosses the scanner to him with a scowl. "And yet, everything."

* * *

_**A/N:** Many thanks for reading! Any feedback will be encouraging as I'm in such a terrible writer's block at the moment XD_


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